Golden Thorns
by Adie21
Summary: Orihime is the Heir to the Golden Throne and she has been trained since birth to fight and defend. Her father the King, has shown her nothing but hatred and torment, leaving her with scars that run deep. But when a rebellion begins to build, and she notices a certain orange haired rebel trailing her every step, she will soon learn the world isn't as cruel as she thought. Ichihime.
1. Chapter One

_**Hey everyone, thanks for stopping by. So this story is gonna be pretty much a whole new world, but with all our favorite Bleach characters still alive and thriving in it but due to the world change their personalities are gonna seem slightly OOC but hey! That's the fun in Fanfiction!**_

 _ **WARNING : This is also going to be a very dark story, with lots of death, torture and mentions of rape. So please don't read if those things will upset you. **_

_**Disclaimer : I don't own bleach or any of the characters. Just the story line. **_

_**Now lets jump right into it shall we?**_

* * *

The crowd was loud, but all she heard was the sound of knuckles hitting bone. The heat must have been unbearable, but all she felt was her pounding heart- but it was beating, which was a positive.

Focus.

The man circled her, his face a mask of viciousness. She studied him, from his large bruised hands, flexing into fists, to his feet moving swiftly through the sand, and knew she could never be stronger or faster, but she could be smarter. Taking a quick survey of the surrounding arena, she looked for anything to use against him. And was met with only sand and rock.

Rocks too small to be useful, his head would be the only vulnerability, but his towering height would make it impossible to get a good enough hit in... unless she got him on the ground.

Focus.

She wouldn't be able to out fight him, he has more weight to throw behind his swings. And, unfortunately, she couldn't evade forever. Not if she wanted to win.

With no other options left, she stopped circling.

He watched her from 20 yards away, as she took one step back, then another before stopping once more.

He smiled wickedly, before charging. Barreling through the sizzling sand towards her.

She watched, took the smallest step to the left to better align herself, and then allowed him to tackle her.

The ground met them with an unforgivable force, the sound of her skull smacking against the sand shook her teeth and sent the whole world spinning. Her vision didn't have time to settle before he was on top of her, his fist colliding with her tender jaw.

Her head spun along with the world.

Gritting her teeth she readied herself for the next blow. But it never came. He simply sat on top her, staring down, quietly. And she wondered, for a brief moment, how she looked to him, before he smiled once again.

She saw him reach to her left flank and barely made out the jagged structure of the rock before he was slamming it down into her left shoulder. A strangled cry escaped her as he lifted his hand to strike again but she thrashed and kicked and clawed and his aim faltered. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that one clean hit to the temple would be all it took. The rock scrapped down her cheek, before connecting solidly with her already wounded shoulder. A resounding crack echoed through the arena moments before her agonizing scream.

Seeming satisfied with his handiwork, he tossed the rock aside, choosing instead to wrap his hands around her throat, trying to squeeze out whatever breath was left in her. Seemed like killing her wasn't personal enough, the bastard wanted to watch the life leave her eyes.

She gasped for breath, clawing uselessly at his face, his arms, anything she could reach. Her shoulder screamed in agony as she struggled, but it was nothing to the burning in her lungs. She could feel the skin of her throat swell and bruise in the form of his fingers. Maybe 40 seconds left before she lost consciousness, and judging by her blurring vision, that was probably being optimistic.

Focus

The knee pressing against her chest was giving him pretty good leverage, and he'd already taken out her dominate arm. Gods-dammit.

And as the sand moved beneath her, sinking as she thrashed, so abruptly her attention was drawn to the screaming faces of all the strangers watching, the ringing in her ears drowned out what they were saying, some looked thrilled- others less so. It appears some had bet on her to win this fight. How touching.

Focus.

He tightened his grip, wanting it to be over perhaps. He knew he was going to kill her.

And she let him, she let him, she let him.

Until she didn't.

Because finally, through seas and mountains of sand, her fingers found what they'd been searching for. And she swung around, bashing the rock into his head.

He flew off her, and she forced her aching body to follow, gripping the short hairs on his head- he didn't seem to like that. Blocking his arm from colliding with her chest, she swung again. And this time he stilled, but she kept hitting him, aiming for his temple.

She felt his blood soaking her skin, making it hard to keep her grip.

But she kept hitting him.

She could see his brains splattering across the sand, making her skin crawl.

But she kept hitting him.

And it wasn't until her muscles refused to continue, that her swinging ceased. Her legs, the only part willing to cooperate, shook slightly as she raised herself from the gore drenched sand. Her left arm dangling at her side, barely attached to her shoulder.

The crowd had gone silent, only a few of them looking her way-perhaps the ones who thought she'd be the one lying dead in the dirt? Instead, they looked high, to where the king sat on his golden throne. He stood slowly and walked lazily to the edge of his balcony, where he stared down at her, expressionless. An emotion similar to fear sunk in her gut, but she had nothing to fear, right? She was the strongest of them all- the one left standing. Then why, as his cold unfeeling eyes bore down into hers, did she feel she had somehow lost?

She desperately wanted him to speak, to tear her out of her own mind- still filled with thoughts of unwinnable fights. Finally, he answered her silent prayer.

"It appears the Trials have finally been concluded." He spoke clearly, loudly yet nearly silent all at once. "Now bow before my daughter, and the new Heir to our beautiful city, Princess Orihime Inoue!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd, they began to shout her name, chanting it like a song, easily overlooking that most of them had just been betting on her death. Something she would never let herself forget.

But for now, she sagged in relief, and only then did she let her fingers uncurl from her little rock. And as the sounds of everyones cheers washed over her, she lifted her good arm above her head and let out a cry of victory. Trying to ignore her older brothers blood dripping down her hand, and soaking into the sand beneath her boots.

* * *

I awoke with the screams of my 13 year old self, lodged in my throat. Gasping, my aching throat throbbing with every strained breath. Looking down I saw the blood still on my hands, through the darkness I could see the evil glint of red sprawled over my fingers, dripping onto my sheets.

I bolted across my pitch black room, my body working through muscle memory alone. I barely made it to the toilet before I lost everything in my stomach. I lerched and lerched until my body had nothing left to give. Shaking with an ancient torment I pressed my forehead against the cool porclein bowl, staying as still as I could while the rest of the nausea left me.

And when all that was left of my nightmares was my sweat soaked skin and the slight throb of my head, I pulled the lever- getting rid of all evidence of my terrors- and allowed myself to lean back against the wide lip of the vanity.

Seven years. Seven years wasn't enough to shake the feelings I'd felt that hot summer day, and I wondered how much longer I'd be forced awake by them, couldn't help but think if I would live with the memory etched into me forever. Perhaps, it was best that way.

On shaky limps, I rose, bracing my ghostly pale hands on the smooth surface of the counter. I noticed then, the small rays of sunlight streaming in through the open windows, shining on the marble floors and filling the deep golden tub with a glittering light.

At least my nightmares had the decency not to wake me until dawn.

Though, I wished it was still too dark to see my reflection. The dark circles under my eyes seemed to darken further when I looked directly at them, and my half lidded eyes gleamed, the gray nearly glowing on my face.

I pulled my long sleep shirt over my head, throwing it into a forgotten corner, and breathed deep, as I let the cool air settle over my naked flesh. I kept my eyes clenched tight as I slapped my hands against my numb cheeks, trying to force my brain to awaken. And it was beginning to work, my mind stretching open, when the sight of my brothers brains- etched into the blackness of my eyelids- had me snapping my eyes open, opened to see nothing but my own face.

No brains. No gore.

Those were figments of a long forgotten day. They couldn't hurt me now, but I could still feel the terror in my bones.

My gaze drifted down, instantly settling on my left shoulder, where a rough jagged scar permanently lay. My fingers raised and felt over the ruined flesh, I had memorized the feel of it long ago, but with my dream still heavy in my mind, the scar felt much larger. Even after all these year I could remember the pain, could feel every tug and stretch of my skin as they forced my bone back into my body with a crack loud enough to shake my teeth.

My father- Clark Madoc, King of the Golden City- had later told me that in a wave of savageness and pain, I had trashed the medical room, injuring the two men who'd set my shoulder. And while I couldn't remember doing it, I looked at the broken glass and the fresh blood on my hands- mixed in among the dried blood of my brother- and knew it to be true and wept. For the lives I had taken and the innocence I had left behind.

Shaking my head, I banished the memory. Choosing instead to take in the rest of me, so thoroughly covered in scars and bruises.

The bruises, dark and vicious, littered over my knuckles and along my rib-cage. An every day occurrence. Though I hated it, training the new recruits always came faster when you threw them into the fighting ring first, and then when they were sore and broken, you could build them back up. I took the liberty of fighting them all myself. I, being the most restrained, knew how much the boys could take, knew how far to push them.

These bruises were nothing in comparison.

The scars, on the other hand, weaved over the entirety of my body. They were scattered over my hips and ribs, across my stomach and I knew if I could see my back, they would mark up that flesh too. Half I didn't remember receiving. Others ran deep enough, that just looking at them, made my mind shift through each memory quickly- flashing before my eyes before retreating back into the dark pits of my mind. I don't think my skin had ever been smooth, had ever been unsullied by blood and iron and steel.

I forced my stare back to my face, taking in my features; the delicate tilt of my eyes, the small nose and strong jaw that could take any punch, and felt nothing but hatred.

A beautiful face, so I'd been told since i was a girl. I had every feature- all inherited from my mother- to mark me as one of the Beautiful Inoues. A term that had men everywhere covet me; a prize sheep to be won.

But I could see the ugliness within; the brutality hidden beneath the beauty. They had seen it too, the day of the trials but they had let themselves forget that a beast lived among them.

They were all fools.

And I'd seen enough. I stalked across the room, each footstep a stomp to convey my anger. My hatred. I filled my veins with it, even as the bath water rose in the tub. I allowed myself to be consumed by the anger as I stepped into the hot bath. The searing water instantly making my skin redden, but I welcomed the dull pain of it. Let it help me forget the memories I kept locked up so tight they could only escape in my dreams.

I could hear the maids in the other room, scurrying to dress the bed before I finished bathing. And with my predator senses, I could hear their labored breathing as they rushed about. Pushing out farther, I could hear the faint scuff of polished boots against marble out in the hallway, as the Courts occupants rose along with the sun.

Not caring about the heat, I let my head sink beneath the water, wishing I never had to resurface.

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 _ **That's it for Chapter one!**_

 _ **I know Orihime is nearly entirely OOC, but trust me her caring nature will make an appearance soon enough!**_

 _ **Please, please, please leave a review if you have any thoughts or improvement ideas, I'd love to hear them!**_

 ** _Until next time-_**


	2. Chapter Two

**Well, if I got you to come this far- that's a miracle. To all the people who reviewed or followed this story I'd like to say thank you! It means the world to me. Honestly.**

 **Just a reminder, this story is in a different world. Meaning their canon pasts never happened.**

 **Warning : This is a dark story with adult themes.**

 **Disclaimer : I don't own Bleach or the characters. Just the story.**

 **Well then let's jump right in!**

* * *

The sound of droplets of water hit the marble floor was my only company as I stood outside my father's large oak door. It had been 20 minutes since my arrival and yet I hadn't heard a single sound from within. My dripping wet hair clung to my back, seeping cold water into my uniform and I resisted the urge to shiver. The thought of knocking crossed my mind and I banished it instantly. The king had whipped his servants for less and while this day was already beginning to drag, I didn't plan on making it worse for myself.

A group of men, dressed for combat, rounded the corner and I straightened. Their uniforms labeled them as soldiers from The Southern Rim. They didn't seem to notice me as they approached and I took the opportunity to take them in. There were four men in total, two of whom were fairly older, perhaps mid 40's. Their hair was a pale white. And somehow their faces were blank yet stern. They were clearly unhappy to have traveled so far from home. They wore the colors of the South, dark blue shirts and slacks but delicate threading's of bright yellow swirled on the front of their shirts. Red sashes hung across their chests stretching from shoulder to shoulder, and two very large swords hung from their sides.

As it was normal in most cities, they had armor that sat upon their shoulders, not clunky but sturdy enough to protect from any blade.

Looking at them it was easy to assume they were high ranking generals, but as I observed harder I noticed they had no dents in their armor. Odd, considering Southerners prided themselves on such things. The more imperfect the armor- the fiercer the warrior. They believed you weren't truly a solider if a sword had never been close enough to graze you. And the older men's armor gleamed, as if brand new. Politicians then. Not a threat.

I moved past them and took in the younger men. They were around 20 and they both towered over the older men, their shoulders were broad and seemed to carry their armor easily. Armor that had so many indention's it was shocking it was still in one piece and just the sight of it set me on edge. They were dressed in near identical outfits as the others but where the older men's red sashes were bare, these men had many patches that I could only assume they'd earned through bloodshed. Where one had hair that reminded me of a clear sky, the others was as dark as the night. And as they drew near, I could better see their faces and with little effort I saw the similarities. Brothers maybe? Brothers that had clearly seen many battles and survived them all. They would be the ones to watch.

They were passing directly in front of me when I realized I was full blown staring. The one with blue hair, looked over his brothers' shoulder and smirked at me, mistaking my gaze as appreciative. I didn't dare look away, I poured fire into my eyes as he held them. I didn't let the surprise show on my face when I noticed his peculiar eyes, one green and one blue.

He stopped walking and his brother instantly stopped with him, but the older men walked a few more steps before noticing half their party had halted.

I studied the one who looked like the night and blinked. His eyes, which were now staring at me, were the same as his brothers'. One green and one blue, but opposite. Almost as if they had each stolen an eye from the other. They were mirror images. I looked from each of their faces and saw that they didn't just look alike, they were identical. Not just brothers but twins.

The dark brother took me in, from my boots up to my own armor. His eyebrows raised when he noticed the material. I felt a small twinge of pride as he took it in. Silver Armor was as rare as it was strong. Some people were only lucky enough to see just a scrap of it. To the East, in Bellator, you could find small pieces of jewelry made of it; earrings, rings and maybe a bracelet if you were lucky. The tiniest bit of it was worth a fortune.

And my entire upper body was covered in it.

It stretched over my shoulders and stopped just below my heart, leaving my breasts and stomach exposed. It had been a gift from my uncle on my mothers' side- the current ruler of Bellator- given to me on my 15th birthday.

"Not very often you see a woman dressed for war." The smirky one said, shaking me from my thoughts. "Especially not one with such beautiful armor."

I bristled at that, as if I was just some doll playing dress up.

"It's surprising the South is still standing, if they let mere men fight their battles."

The dark one's mouth twisted up a bit before composing himself but it was his brother that responded. "Perhaps it is different here but our women don't fight in our armies. They either learn to cook or spend their time warming a true soldiers bed. Depending on their skill set, of course."

"No wonder you're so thin, your poor mother never learned to cook."

His lip curled as his darker twin laughed. It seemed their hair colors did not suit their personalities. My opponent of words took me in once more, lingering longer on my hips and bust, before smirking.

"Maybe you Goldie's have the right idea. If our women look anything like you in that uniform, we should let them join, then at least we'd have something else to pass around other than the scurry maids."

I could have killed him just for his words alone but when he reached up, moving his fingers towards my chest as if to caress my armor, I decided to have some fun instead.

Never taking my eyes from his, I reached up wrapped my fingers around his wrist, and yanked it forward so that his palm was flat against my breastplate. He smirked and took one step forward, stepping away from the safety of his brother. I craned my neck so I could look into his face as I said, "Shiny, isn't it?"

He nodded in response, spreading out his fingers, not being able to move much else as I kept my hand wrapped securely around his wrist. His brother watched cautiously, stepping to the side where he could see me fully.

"They say Silver Armor shines brightest after being bathed in blood." I put all my strength into my hand, crushing his wrist in my clutches. I twisted it until I felt the bones close to snapping and he dropped to a knee in front of me, his face showing true surprise. "I think your blood will make it glow brighter than it ever has before."

I smiled wickedly as his brother moved to draw his sword.

"I'd be careful, Dark one." I snickered, causing him to pause. "Drawing your sword in the presence of the kings Heir can only end badly for you."

His hand dropped to his side limply as his golden twin gaped up at me. Recognition shined through his eyes, finally, he saw me for who I was. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize maybe, but I cut him off, not wanting him to end my fun just yet. "Not very often you see a man on his knees. Especially one with such a big mouth."

I twisted his wrist some more, all it would take was one flick of my wrist to break the bones. He'd know then, what a woman could do.

Before he could feel the pain, the doors flew open behind me and I dropped his wrist as if it were on fire. I stood tall, my hands folded neatly behind my back as the king walked from his bedroom. He stopped just past his threshold, and took in the sight before him. He looked to the kneeling man, holding his wrist tenderly, the dark-haired man who refused to meet his eyes- instead choosing to bow his head. And finally, the two older men who had witnessed everything without a word, they surprisingly seemed completely bored.

It was at the sight of them that he spoke, "Kensei and Gin! How nice to see you so early in the morning." The men nodded their agreements, bowing their heads slightly in respect. My father noticed me then, my back to the wall, standing in front of the kneeling man. He smiled as if he knew exactly what had happened.

"I see you've had the pleasure of meeting my daughter, General Orihime Inoue."

The sandy one rose from the ground, keeping his head down as he spoke. "Good morning, Your Grace. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Grimmjow, general to half of the Southern forces. And this is my brother Ulquiorra, he commands the other half of our military."

Finally, he lifted to his full height, moving his eyes shyly to me in the process. "While I had heard the rumors, I never expected your daughter to be so beautiful, Your Majesty. I was taken completely off guard because of it."

He was laying it on pretty thick. Begging me with his eyes to keep quiet, little did he know that if I had wanted him dead, he would be already. With or without my father. But I'd take the flattery anyway.

"Yes, she very clearly takes after her mother. In every sense a Beautiful Inoues, except of course for her brutal viciousness that she inherited from my bloodline. I'm sure you will one day see that side of her, if you have not already." The king said with a pointed glance to the mans' right wrist, where the skin was red and irritated. If I hadn't known better, I could have sworn I heard pride in his voice.

"Yes," said the dark one- Ulquiorra. "and we hope to never again have it directed at us." He looked at me as he said it, his fascinating eyes didn't beg but instead they showed curiosity. I'm sure it was quite shocking to them, to see a woman in such a high position. We were all equal in rank and yet, at first glance they'd thought of me as a doll, as something to pass around between them.

My tone was icy as I purred, "We were simply speaking about the variances in our militaries, Father. It really is quite different in the South. So… Barbaric."

"Oh, is that right?" Clark- the king- wondered. He stepped from beside me and laid his hand on Grimmjow's shoulder, before continuing, "Perhaps I could send Orihime to your territory. She is known around here as the Enforcer of Law, I'm sure she would have much to teach you."

Grimmjow looked pale as death. It seemed he had a way with words when it came to people he believed beneath him, but as soon as nobility arrived his whole demeanor changed. A way of remaining invisible? From what I had seen of him, he was callous and fierce, but those were things that got you recognition on the battle field, not in the High Courts.

"We would be honored to welcome her, Your Majesty." Ulquiorrra once again stepped in to save his brother. And, taking in his posture, so carefree and relaxed, I wondered if he was used to such awkward encounters. It must be very exhausting to have a brother who uses his mouth before his brain.

With that Clark became bored of the warrior brothers, taking his hand away from Grimmjow, he stepped towards the politicians. He stepped into a whole new role entirely, my father was a man of many faces. Even I, who had spent 20 years watching from the shadows, had yet to see them all. Clark began down the long hallway, Kensei and Gin walking a step behind- allowing the king to lead. I followed them, keeping my pace casual, a daughter following her father.

Long ago the king decided it would be better if people assumed he was constantly without a guard. _"People are devilish creatures."_ He'd said. _"They only show their true faces when comforted by shadows. It is true strength to allow them to plot and to scheme, to allow them to sneak behind your back with a knife in hand, because only then will you see them for what they are."_

And so, through the years, I had been his silent protector. A job I loathed but took very seriously. Night was the only time he was ever truly alone. Locked in his fortress of a room. Even when I wasn't around he had a guardian, watching from the shadows, giving the world the illusion of opportunity. Not that the king wasn't capable of protecting himself. Long before he was king, he was the same as me. Heir to the throne, general of the Golden Cities armies, and assassin if need be. And even though we should have bonded over our shared history, something within us was very different. My father, when he was 23 had killed his king- his own father- so that he could rule.

He had schemed in the shadows, he had given the illusion of safety to his father, and then had stabbed him to death.

And because of this the king had never truly trusted me. He expected me to betray him, to crave my own throne. But one thing he didn't count on was that I never wanted to rule. I had become Heir so that I could live, not so that I could be Queen. In a perfect world, Clark would live forever, never handing me his crown.

But as I looked at his back, his cape that swished on the ground, his armor that sat upon his shoulders, I noticed that his left side seemed to be holding the majority of the weight. I noticed his own hair that had once been as bright as my own, was now nearly completely gray. It wouldn't be long before time took him.

And as I walked I felt the eyes of the brothers on my own back, searching for weaknesses. They would find none. I supposed I should grow used to the eyes of people on my back, stares from those who wanted to stab me in it. I didn't know how many years it would take, maybe 30- maybe only one, but eventually the king would fall, and I would be forced to rule.

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 **Well, that's all for chapter two!**

 **Please review if you have any insight!**

 **Till next time-**


	3. Chapter Three

**Hello again! Thanks so much for commenting or following this story! It makes me so happy to come home and log in to see someone new!**

 **I should probably mention that the reason their is some English names and some Japanese names is all due to where the characters are born in this world, so it's different cultures all in one story.**

 **Warning: This story is very dark with adult themes.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its character. Just the story line.**

 **Well, well, well, let's jump right into the action!**

* * *

Walking with the warrior twins was about as awkward as you can imagine. They trailed behind me, a lurking threat that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on edge. And while they kept a polite distance, I swore I could feel Grimmjow's hot breath against my skin. Taunting me.

Jaw clenched tight, I kept my attention on Clark's back as he walked ahead with Gin and Kensei, talking idly about politics and other useless topics.

When we were finally free from the winding halls of the Kings Wing, I slowed my pace. Our small party merged into the hustling of the High Court, men and woman- all dressed sharply- rushed around, filling the giant round room with a loud hum of chatter and footsteps. Across the sea of people, past my father and his companions, I saw the neutral face of Devon Westbrook, my relievmeant. We met eyes, and the swap was completed.

I changed course, walking towards the Military Wing casually. I knew without having to look that Grimmjow and Ulquiorra never took their eyes off of me, staring daggers into my retreating back. And when I was finally free, walking down the long narrow hallway, my shoulder slumped. Relaxing at last.

It was an odd sense of comfort. I spent most of my time in the winding halls of the military wing. I wouldn't call it 'a home away from home' per-say. But it would be hard not to form a kind of emotional attachment to a place you've spent all your time in for years.

Footsteps, rushing towards me, gave away his position long before he was close enough to strike.

And in the blink of an eye he was smacked into the marble ground, his back popping under the strain. I stood over the young boy, my hands clasped formally behind my back, and a small tight smile on my lips. He laid there for a moment, staring up at me with a look of disappointment and slight pain shining in his eyes.

"A sneak attack is worthless with all that stomping." I chastised him.

He sat up, his back cracking unnaturally. "Sorry, Boss. I'll do better tomorrow. I mean... next time."

I rolled my eyes and continued walking. Hisagi Shuhei, age 15. Orphaned at the age of nine and brought to me for execution about a year ago. He'd been charged with theft by a wealthy store owner. Six apples, and a Gold necklace were found in his possession upon arrival and, to my father, that had been more than enough evidence. A life sentence for a couple apples and a cheap chain, such a waste.

But, I had seen something in his eyes, a drive to survive, and a fire that I could shape and mold into a useful tool. And, a boy who had never been given a choice was suddenly given two. Death by stone or to live out his days in the kings guard. He had chosen easily enough.

What I hadn't counted on was how terrible his skill set would be. Lowest in his barracks, and worst swordsman I'd ever seen.

"You'll never pass the kings next task at this rate, Hisagi."

"I'm trying." He sulked from behind me, his feet loud and clumsy as he tried to keep up. "I'm just not very good with conflict."

I sighed heavily, I had no doubt he was trying his best, but that was what weighed on me. "My father values results, not effort."

We walked in silence for awhile, winding down halls after halls. We met no one on our journey to the Center, and Hisagi's heavy steps were the only sound filling the empty space.

"Maybe," he began quietly, merely a whisper of breath. "you can convince him to pass me. Like you did last task."

My foot hesitated slightly as I walked, my hands unconsciously clenching behind my back tighter. I forced my tone smooth, "I did no such thing."

Hisagi was quick to appear at my side, his muggy brown eyes trying to connect with mine. But I stared ahead, concentrating intensely on each step I took. "I know you did, Coniver was at least three ranks ahead of me and yet somehow he ranked below me. I should have been among the ones who took a sip of Mortas blood."

I bristled at the sound of her name. Morta the Goddess of Death; I knew her well enough. I'd seen her on ever battle field and I had given her plenty of souls to devour. I spit over my shoulder. "Watch your tongue, boy. The Gods do not like their names spoken so callously."

Mortas blood, a toxic and unrelenting poison that killed viciously and painfully. Only those who are leaving this world in dishonor, who do not deserve their souls to pass into their next lives, are given her blood. Once the liquid passes your lips, you belong to her for eternity, living forever in the underworld.

If a recruit is found to be unworthy of the kings seal, if his tasks are not completed honorably, then he is given to Morta.

Hisagi spit over his shoulder as well, his head bowed slightly. His short black hair cut closely to his scalp, and dark bruises showed through it, ghosting down to his jaw. I could see them covering his arms, all the way up into his loose shirt. He was too skinny, and he was also too smart for his own good.

Coniver had been above him. Coniver should be the one walking besides me. He had been strong and cunning, everything a warrior strived to be but Coniver had also been a despicable human being, which, normally, would have made him a perfect fit in the Kings Guard but he had done something. Something so appalling and morbid that even I couldn't stomach it.

Hisagi was a better fit to be a soldier, he just lacked the skill to fulfill his destiny. And I had to let him mold it himself, otherwise he would never succeed.

I rested my hand gently on his shoulder and paused our walking just before the final turn into the Center. Where I could already hear the clash of swords and spears and bone on bone. Hisagi looked up at me with scorned eyes, and I ignored their pleading. "This task will not be like the others, Hisagi. The whole city will be watching. Either you pass the task, on your own, or-" I pulled away. Having to look away from his innocence and worth, otherwise the words would never leave my mouth. "Or you will dishonor me and my seal and you will spend out immortality with the Death Singer."

Remorse sank in my gut but I ignored it as I left him behind to stand alone with his defeat. The words had to be said, for I couldn't protect him forever. He would need to live or die on his own, no matter how hard it was for me to accept.

I cleared my head of him as I rounded the corner and looked down into the Center, looked down on the remaining recruits as they beat and cut and tore each other apart. Vicious and wild. A room filled with murderers and thieves, and I knew deep inside me, that Hisagi would never stand a chance.

The familiar scent of blood and sweat stung my nose as I walked down the broad stair-well into the Center. And while I entered, the fighting slowed, and then ceased all together. Every pair of eyes darting for me.

So few were left. So many young men had walked into this gym, hungry for power and status, and most were now gone. Whether they were released honorably, or taken after incomplete tasks- the result was the same. The only ones strong enough to survive, the only ones who could kill and marr and completely devastate their opponents, were the ones without mercy, the ones who could look upon a starving child, who stole a measly three apples, and would find death a reasonable punishment.

I suppose, I was no different. If I was the one training them, didn't my ideals become theirs? Wasn't I responsible for these men, and their actions? Coniver came to mind- and my heart thudded loudly, ringing in my ears.

Thankfully, my face was conditioned enough to remain blank as the uncontrollable rage pounded through me. I came to a stop in from of the small group, most of them slick with sweat.

Hisagi ran up from behind me to fall into formation within the herd. Twenty-two men, some only boys like Hisagi, boys who still hadn't grown to full height, hadn't yet felt scruff on their morning cheeks. How many would last?

"Your next task is in four weeks. And unlike the others, this will be watched by your King, and he himself will decide which ones are worthy to be in his guard." I looked at each one slowly. "I shouldn't need to remind you but your actions and skill reflect directly on me. And I do not like being made into a fool. So in the coming weeks I will assign specific days in which you will all train with me, individually."

To that they all seemed rather shocked, looking to one another, their mouths gaping open.

I suppose, their reactions weren't too far fetched. I had never really shown much interest in their training. After their first initiation I'd rarely even given them verbal advice, leaving most of the day to day grunt work to a select few who were more appropriate teachers. As if I'd called him forward, Sam Cortman, slipped from the shadows. He strolled casually toward me, his chest bare and glistening with sweat, and I found it difficult to keep my face neutral, before he came to a rest on my right.

In his presence the men's entire mood shifted. And I could feel the slow, moving tension inside of them. I recognized it in their faces. For I had felt it every day, every hour and every minute of my life. Except, my tormentor was of my own family and blood. I had not chosen him, and he had not chosen me.

Even despite that, Sam was their nightmare incarnated.

The person who haunted them, and yet- made them strive to be better. It was a morbid kind of circle of life, in a way. Without our fears, we would never become who we are meant to be. But too many fears, and it could break us entirely, terrifying us in unspeakable ways.

I'd riding that line for awhile, myself.

"The lower ranked members will be granted more time for personalized training. While the rest of you will continue with your day to day work outs and routines." Sam continued, smiling slightly at me. "General Inoue will make me look like a picnic on a nice summer day, so don't think you're getting off easy. And when training with her, how you do will reflect on me. So, if I hear that any of you embarrass me and the rest of your squad, then prepare yourselves for a harsh punishment."

My jaw clenched slightly, hating the threat in his voice but understanding the reasoning behind it. Because it had the right effect, every one of their backs straightened, and I could feel Hisagi's eyes on me, trying to get my attention. I didn't give it to him.

"Don't worry, I'll take it easy on your recruits, Cortman. Wouldn't want to kill them before your punishment can come to light."

He chuckled, "You heard her, get into your groups so the Heir can pick which one of you to begin with." With that, they all broke apart before regrouping into packs of four. I was almost jealous of the way they followed his commands. I wondered, briefly, if I had taken more of an interest, would it be me they feared?

Would that make me feel less hollow?

My body began to buzz in the anticipation of the violence, the need to let off some steam was pumping through me like blood. Though I had enough hindsight to know, the young men before me would do nothing to satisfy me.

"How bout you, Cortman? Why don't you help me get warmed up?"

His eyes danced along my form, glazing in a mysterious way. "I thought you'd never ask."

Evil, wicked excitement bubbled in my gut. It had been too long since I'd brawled for the pure enjoyment of it. I itched at the chance.

And I would enjoy knocking that suggestive smirk clean off of his face.

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **Thats it for chapter three!**_

 _ **Badass Orihime bout to make an appearance! Can't wait to see her in action.**_

 _ **That's all that I'd already had written so the next couple chapters will come a little more spaced apart!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	4. Chapter Four

**Sorry for such a late update! I tried to get to a computer as much as I could!**

 ** _Warning:_ This is a very dark story. Not for the faint of heart!**

 ** _Disclaimer_ : Bleach and all its characters belong to Tite Kubo!**

 **Well, without further a do, let's get into it!-**

* * *

The young recruits pretended to spare with one another, slowly swinging their arms in easily blocked movements. And though, they kept their eyes carefully diverted, it was obvious that their attention was completely on us.

Couldn't say I didn't want it that way.

Foolishly, I felt a strong need to prove myself. It had been a year since they'd last seen me fight, a year of thinking Sam was the strongest warrior in the Golden Army. And judging by Sam's own words, they were likely to believe that fighting me was to be easy- a day off. It would take only a few moments of Sam and I's fight for them to understand.

I'd practically grown up with Sam. And though he is two years older than me, he'd always had a young, childlike soul. His father- a member of the Kings Council, a heavy set man who always has a little bit of ale still glistening on his upper lip- had wanted him raised as a soldier. Sam put up a fight, wanting instead to run free, no cares in the world. That was until his mother died when he was 16. And if memory serves, she'd been walking through the lower end of the city, when she was robbed, raped, and then beaten to death. He'd found her body a week later, already beginning to decompose in a sewer canal.

For obvious reasons, Sam had never been the same. He'd grown years older in the course of a few days. He was quieter, more cynical and, in combat, completely unhinged.

I had always felt an attachment to him because of those changes. Though, I had always been a little aloof, I had been forced to grow up quickly too. Just at a much younger age. So, I understood the pain of losing your childhood, your innocent view of the world, in the blink of an eye.

But, as we grew, his idea of me had changed- as most men's did. I'd always slightly hated him because of it, for we had been companions in pain, allies in devastation, and then suddenly I was just a thing to take to bed. An object made up of skin and legs and breasts. I thought I had known what being alone was, but I'd never realized how my childhood friendship had kept me from drowning in isolation, until that too was stripped from me.

He'd taken something precious away. And I'd make him pay for it with broken bones and spilled blood.

We stood apart from each other, armed in nothing but our fists; my armor laying on the ground beside my mighty sword. I hoped he would land a few hits, he was no novice after all, and I couldn't wait to feel his blows connect. They would force me to feel something- anything.

"Don't go easy on me, Hime." He muttered, as his raised his fists slightly, moving them up to protect his chin. And I grinned.

"You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

And then I was there, my knuckles slamming into his undefended gut. On instinct, his elbow shot down but I was no longer within its range. I was behind him, my knee striking up into his spine. He grunted before swinging his tree of an arm around- I ducked under it easily. And flew my fist up, through his now open defenses, feeling my knuckle split as it cracked against his jaw.

Sam flew back slightly, his head spinning, but I didn't give him time to regroup, for in his confusion, he'd dropped his arms completely, and with no effort at all I reached up, wrapped my small, feminine hands behind his head- noting how soft his curly hair was- and brought it down with a forceful tug. He barely resisted at all before his face was connecting soundly with my rising knee.

Blood sprayed as he collapsed, falling to the earth like a sack of flour. He groaned as he laid there, his face resting against the stone.

I released a heavy sigh, turning to face the shocked faces of the young men- Hisagi the only one smiling- and tried not to be insulted. "I hope you all put up more of a fight."

Sam, turned over, choosing to lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Now I remember why I was so scared of you growing up." As he spoke he lifted a shaky hand to wipe the blood away from his bleeding nose.

Despite the chuckle I let escape me, I felt only immense disappointment. "You're still scared of me, big man."

He was about to respond, the corners of his mouth lifting into a devilish grin, when I turned away. Choosing to take in the recruits crowded before us, lazily looking at each one individually. Only two didn't shy from my full attention, Hisagi and a tall blonde boy, who stood behind the others. He was skinny, for his height, and his face was covered in blemishes.

He seemed like a good enough place to start. I walked into the herd, through towering bodies that parted, allowing me to pass. Until I came to a stop in front him. He looked down at me, and I had to crane my neck in order to look into his eyes. "What's your name?"

He rung his hands together, nervously. "Lonzor Merccari son of Kenway."

My ear buzzed at the name. "He's a soldier in the lower end of the city, correct?

"Yes, General."

I stared at Lonzor for a moment, wondering why he was here- if he had chosen this way of life. A life a bloodshed and ruin. Of orders and empty companionship's.

Judging by his clammy forehead and diverted eyes, I was going to assume not.

I jerked my head, "In the ring."

He slithered past his group. None of them moving to let him pass. An underdog if I'd ever seen one. I would see how much they had learned. I would see how much their bones could take before breaking.

When he was standing before me, his arms raised defensively, his form sloppy and disgraceful, I sneered, "Let us see what Kenway has taught you."

* * *

One hour. That's all it took, to get through them all. To beat them down until thy could no longer rise. My father would never accept them. And it would be i who took the brunt of his anger when he had to raise yet another squadrant to replace them.

That thought alone had made me more cruel; hitting harder, striking dirtier.

For there would be no fair fights, no rules of honor to protect them out in the slums.

And I screamed as much, when they were all broken and bleeding. "Weak! Useless! Who do you believe will stand between you and death? Do you think this will be a life of ease, of people being afraid of you because of the seal alone? Most of you have never stepped foot into the lower rim, you could not understand the desperation you will find there." I paced in front of them, Sam watching from behind me, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "And it is that very desperation that will bring them to you, that will give them the idea to slit your throats and steal the armor right off your back, so that their family's can have a roof over their head and food in their bellies. There will be no one to protect you except yourselves."

I stopped my pacing. And poured fire into my gaze, and took in them all, staring into the sea of multicolored eyes, until they all could no longer stomach the sight of the painful death that shined within them. "Yourselves. And your Brothers. The men beside you. You are competitors now, but do not forget these are the men who will be at your back in the coming years." I gestured to Sam behind me. "I would lay down my life in protection of Sam Cortland, and I would expect nothing less in return. So do what you wish now, claw and scheme your way to the top, but remember when the trials are done, all you will find is a vulnerable back and a sea of enemies."

My words shuttered and echoed throughout the Center. And they had not yet finished bouncing off the walls before a new voice overtook the room. "General, you're needed in the throne room."

I looked high, to the banister that overlooked the Center, and saw Devon staring back at me. And, just looking into his handsome, yet utterly bored face, I knew without having to ask who it was who had summoned me.

I knew I should have let myself drown in the tub this morning.

Without so much as another glance to the shameful recruits, I retrieved my armor and weapons, and stalked my way to the nearest stairwell. Merely nodding at Sam, trusting he'd know what to do. By the time I'd made it up the wide set stairs, and reached Devon, my armor was once again rested atop my shoulders and the recruits bellow were already on their second lap.

Devon began walking as I asked, "What does he want?"

"Can't say for sure, General. But I believe he wants to start the Gathering a few days early."

I started at that, "Early? For what reason?"

He didn't bother replying, and I hissed. No wonder the Southerners were here so ahead of schedule. Leeching parasites.

The rest of the walk to the Grand Throne room was silent, as our walks often were. I preferred it that way. My head was currently too filled with complaints and nasty words, for me to engage in pleasantries, anyway.

What did Clark have to gain by starting the Gathering three days early? What purpose did it serve?

The Gathering, a cordial event that happens every year during the summer, always sparked me as completely unnecessary. Where the rulers and generals from every Cardinal Point converge to offer their allegiance to my father and, by association, me. They usually bring gifts and other useless tokens, left at the foot of the Kings Grand Throne.

And now, due to my lovely Father's intervention, every citizen is to come and bring forth their own sense of allegiance in the form of money and jewels. I was only a young child when he'd changed the tradition, and even I could remember the wide spread panic.

For it did not end well for those who had nothing to offer.

We'd lost many lower rankers during those first couple of years.

Such a stupid, worthless tradition. Such a waste.

Devon and I broke free from the Military Wing and stepped into the shockingly empty entrance hall. The giant circular room, which was usual filled at all hours of the day, was totally desolate.

Our footsteps echoed off of the marble walls and pillars, creating a rather loud thump in my ears.

The throne room doors came into view and I took a deep steadying breath, straightening my spine before Devon placed his large hands over the pure gold knobs and threw the oak doors open.

The room was filled to the brink with people from all around the world, and they all turned and watched as I entered. Every single pair of eyes darting for me. I pretended I didn't notice them. Pretended I couldn't feel the oily gaze of all the men in the room, as they sneered and snickered over my tight fitting uniform. I felt their eyes fall to my breasts and linger, as if to try burning a hole big enough to see the skin beneath.

Disgusting, vile creatures.

But then, all else in the world ceased to exist, as my eyes darted ahead to the Golden Throne, to the King lounging across it, his crown perfectly balanced on his ash colored head. He had a sick smile on his face, like he too could see the eyes looking at me, savoring every Inoue feature. Like he too could feel the discomfort working it's way deep into my soul.

His smile only darkened.

And I suddenly felt like a sheep, locked in with starving wolves.

* * *

 **Uh-oh. What's mean old papa bear up to?** **Guess we'll just have to wait and see. Muahaha**

 **Thanks so much for reading and please leave a review with any thoughts!**

 **Till next time-**


	5. Chapter Five

_**Hello again! Chapter five flowed out of me way faster this time so that's good! I'm really excited for you all to read it.**_

 _ **A big thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited or reviewed!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Bleach and all of it's characters belong to Tite Kubo.**_

 _ **Warning: This is a mature story with adult themes.**_

 _ **Lets jump right in!-**_

* * *

My armor was stifling, I could feel sweat pooling at the nape of my neck. Though, with all the bodies pressed into the small stone room, I suppose I should be grateful I still had air to breathe.

Vladimir- my mighty blade- felt heavier than usual. As casually as I could, I rolled my neck. I, perhaps, should have picked a subtler weapon for today, or maybe I should have strapped the blade at my waist instead of along my back.

A skinny man, who's bones seemed near to piercing through his skin, bowed and left a basket filled with bread at the bottom of the throne steps, before retreating quickly. And as I watched him sink away, I wondered if he'd gone days without food to supply that small amount of offering.

And my complaining, suddenly, seemed like that of a spoiled child.

A woman, with a too straight nose and sunken in eyes simply stepped forward and sent a flirtatious look at the king, whom nodded, before she slipped back into the crowd, no doubt waiting to give her offering in a more private setting.

Disgust boiled in my gut before I banished it away.

My legs ached but I stood straight. How much longer could this go on? It had already been two hours of people offering what little they could, crops, money, the clothes straight off of their backs, but sometimes all they had were their lives.

The King had little usage of the old but a few had offered up their children. One young girl, who should pray that the king needed a new maid, I couldn't stomach the alternative. Plus three strong men, had already been given as workers but one small nod from me in my father's direction saved them from a long life as servants. Tomorrow they would become mine to train and shape into soldiers. Now whether that life was a long one, depended entirely on them.

Very few women were cocky enough to offer themselves to my father. Many knew how very _particular_ the king was when it came to his women. To give the offer and be denied, with no substitute to put forward, did not end nicely for them. But Clark seemed to be in a pleasant enough mood and had turned no donation down, whether it be a sack filled with gold or a half rotted apple. The cities less fortunate, seemed to be having the most fortunate day of their lives.

"I have use of you, my dearest Heir." Clark stated over his shoulder, his attention still completely fixed on the string of people leaving gifts at his feet. "Word has reached me that there is a merchant selling stolen Southern pearls in the lower rim. He has stemmed a great profit from his efforts."

A child, barely at the age of learning to walk, held the hand of his mother as she set one single copper coin on the bottom step, and I held my breath but my father allowed her to shrink back and begin her bowed decent back into the crowd.

But it was the child I watched, and the child who watched me back.

"What is it you need done?"

He laughed under his breath, as he raised his hand to rub his chin, "I could care less about the South and their hurt pride, but I doubt this newly rich merchant has been paying his far amount in taxes. And I don't like being stolen from."

The child, who was still being pulled away, lifted his hand in a slight wave, his childlike acknowledgment of my attention.

"Devon has already been notified, and has done the necessary recon. You two will finish it tonight. And why don't you pick two of your underlings to accompany you, have them see what will be expected of them."

The boy's mother, having noticed his far away stare, having looked back to see me, observing her son, yanked him against her. To shield him from my view. "Leave it to me, Father."

A tall man, who was probably suffocating in all his thick layers, stepped forward. "Please, accept these jewels from the Eastern continent of Bellator." His voice dripped with power and echoed off the stone walls.

It was so rare of them to speak.

I studied the man as he set the jewels and rubies at Clark's feet and kneeled before the throne. Handsome, if not a bit chubby. His hair, a solid, honey gold swept down to his broad shoulders. And though he kept his eyes downcast, I knew they would be the same piercing grey as my own.

Eyes of the Beautiful Inoues.

I could feel the judgmental looks thrown in my direction as the man spoke again, "They are the most stunning of all Bellatonian jewels." I kept my face neutral- bored- as my father leaned forward besides me.

"Is my daughter not stunning to you, Kisuke?" Clark purred. The room went as silent as the grave, as Kisuke looked up, his eyes jumping from my face to the smile on Clark's. He recognized the taunt for what it was.

"Very much so. She is, Your Highness, a true gift to the Inoue name."

My dear uncle Kisuke knew how to play the game. Claiming me to the Inoue's could only be seen as an honor to everyone in this Court, but to my father, who sought to claim every living being, well he took the slap to the face as if it were a lover's caress.

A small, ever fleeting, wave of liberation swept over me. Such a small comfort; Of knowing Clark would never fully own me, not when a bastard child has always been saddled with the mothers' name.

But I also knew how to play this sadistic game. And so, pouring a fake distain into my voice, I said to my uncle, "The fiery blood of Madoc has long since purified me of any lesser blood. I may have the name of flowers, Lord Kisuke, but I have been dipped in fire and coated in gold." Clarks approval was evident as he slumped back in his throne, feeling no need to add to my statement.

Kisuke looked up at me from his kneeling position and I nearly flinched as I felt the full weight of his attention, his eyes so like my own- like my mother's-

 _I was Orihime Inoue of two royal bloods, and I would not cower._

I straightened my spine, rising my chin slightly higher so I could stare down my nose at the Lord. His eyes showed emotion I could no longer feel as he drawled, "And so you are a golden flower wrapped in thorns."

Before the words could pierce my armor, the throne room doors were thrown open, crashing against the stone walls. My instincts had me reaching across my shoulder for Vladimir but as my eyes adjusted to the blinding light, my hand dropped.

The Lord of the North was striding casually toward my father, a look of mischief on his stubby face and Kisuke had the good sense to merge into the crowd as the king rose from his throne. Clark met his lifelong friend half way and they clasped arms."My friend, I'm glad to see you arrived with little delay."

"The virgin thighs of Davana herself couldn't keep me away."

Clark's booming laughter shook the room, "Then what a strong man you are."

As if remembering their surroundings, the men unclasped their arms, and I realized, perhaps a second too late, that I should have moved with the king when he greeted his friend. For now his back was open to any attacks, to be given by any of his _loving_ subjects. But Clark was already making his way back up the throne steps before I could move even an inch.

"So, Luca, what have you brought me today?" My father sang as he settled back into his gold plated throne. My eyes instantly went the all the offerings strewed across his dais, things we didn't need, things he'd probably throw out.

Lord Luca, mockingly bowed his head, before slapping his hand on his companions' shoulder. I started, having looked past the man's very existence. I looked him over, and couldn't find a single reason for him to be over looked. His hair, a light brown color with a redish hue, was cut short around his ears, yet grew long atop his head. His eyes were steady and clear and they darted around the room, taking in the faces of everyone gathered. He was handsome- strikingly so.

Though, he wasn't a fighter, considering his posture. I knew with only a look that I had several options, most centered around his legs, to pick from if I wanted to knock him on his ass. He had height though, which would make the length of his arms a deadly trap for someone as small as me…

"I have perhaps the greatest offering of all, the offering of young love."

But his legs were long and he seemed unbalanced just to be standing still, all of his fidgeting marking him as completely uncomfortable, so getting him moving would up the scale in my favor.

"I offer an alliance between our two kingdoms,"

His eyes met mine, they were a peculiar brown-almost black in their darkness- with a ring of pure silver around his pupil and I felt as if I had met him before, the encounter blurred at the edge of my memory…

"with the marriage of my son, Youngest heir to the North, Ryley Vilantrio, and your daughter, the Enforcer of Law, Orihime Inoue."

And then, utter silence.

* * *

I lived in silence. I drowned it in from the moment I awoke, hearing the voices of those around me in dull hums- a world heard in slow motion- as I walked through life in a silence of my own creation.

But this silence was different. It was heavy- thick. Not even a whoosh of breath or a shuffle of fabric as someone moved... nothing. And I feared that the whole room could hear my heart hammering in my chest because of it. That they could somehow smell my absolute horror.

Somewhere, in a far away world, I was vaguely aware of my father speaking but the words were lost to me as I sank deeper into that silence.

I kept my face as bored as always- though war was raging inside my aching head. I looked to Ryley once more, to find him already staring, and then, like a bucket of ice cold water thrown over me, I finally recognized him.

We had spent six months in each other's company when we were 14, barely a year after I'd won my trials- defeated my brothers and secured my life. It was a long held tradition for the two heirs, closest in age to train together when they reached maturity. And being the first female Heir in the history of The Golden City, I had felt a need to prove myself.

Poor Ryley had never stood a chance.

If Ryley had been born to my father he would never have lasted infancy, he knew only of comfort and luxury. When we first met he'd been nestled into his mother's side- his cheeks pink with warmth; as I shivered from the two weeks' journey to his kingdom. Clark had thought it would be good exercise for me to walk the whole way, while he sat comfortably in his warm, dry carriage.

Ryley's mother had kissed his head and pushed him encouragingly toward me. The fool had taken my hand to kiss as if I was some fair maiden. He'd taken one look at my dirty skin and cringed but had not dishonored me by dropping my hand.

He had cringed. At _dirt_ …

Least to say, our time together was not pleasant after our training had begun.

He had anticipated stolen kisses and warm winter love, and I'd given him dark bruises and fractured joints.

I was supposed to marry a man who cringed at dirty finger nails? I was expected to see him, not as my equal, but as my king? Clark would never approve of such a spineless male sitting on his throne with me only sittng beside it. I was the leader of his armies. I was the Enforcer of Law, the Princess of Destruction- I could not be forced to marry. I could not be used for such outdated tactics.

But when Clark threw a look over his shoulder and I saw the sneer on his face, I knew not only that I could be. But that I _would_ be.

Clark stared at me for a few moments before I realized I was expected to respond. I knew I had no choice, I knew to deny this would be to covet death. He knew it too. He wanted me to feel it, the weight of his absolute power. As if he hadn't killed enough of me.

I thought my fingers might break by how tightly my fists were clenched but I nodded once, quickly, if only to get his eyes away from me. And his sinister smile grew as he turned forward once again, his arms thrown out as he announced, "Then let it be so! The Gods themselves seem to smile down on us today, my friend."

Luca threw an arm around his son and laughed.

"And who knows," Clark began with a wicked, evil tone. "maybe my daughter will make a man of your son yet." I forced a sinful smile onto my face as the room boomed with laughter.

Past the smile, past the mask- I couldn't breathe. I was suffocating.

I had done everything he'd ever asked of me. Had covered my hands in so much blood for him. My teeth clenched, and I thought I might be sick, right there, in front of the entire city- in front my father and my newly betrothed.

An emotion I so rarely let myself feel bubbled in my chest.

 _Don't you dare break in front of them._

Marriage wouldn't be the end.

I could be the bride of a man I didn't know and would never love. I could leave behind my armor and weapons for gowns and party planning. I could shut my eyes as he was over me and birth children I could only pretend to love. I could trade one form of slavery for another. And I could sacrifice every part of myself I had managed to cling to all of these years.

Because I would be breathing, everything I'd ever done was to secure my next breath- secure just one more second, minute, hour of my worthless existence.

I met Ryley's unique eyes, and in them I could almost see the forming of words, as he tried desperately to convey something, but I paid no mind.

I had already plunged myself into the icy waters of hopelessness, where I could remain numb forever.

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **And there it is! The cliffhanger of the century!**_

 _ **Now, for those of you who desperately want to know where Ichigo is- Just be patient. This is, after all, Orihime's story.**_

 _ **And as all ICHIHIME shippers know, Orihime is a badass with or without him.**_

 _ **But he's coming ;)**_

 _ **Please leave a review if you have any insight!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	6. Chapter Six

**_ATTENTION ATTENTION!_**

 ** _For all of you who read chapter five immediately after it was posted or even a day after this next part is for you!_**

 ** _I'm not sure how but somehow a little important chunk wasn't published in CH-5. So I had to go back and republish it so please go back and reread it. Otherwise this entire chapter will not make sense to you!_**

 ** _So sorry for not catching it :(_**

 ** _Well, now that that's taken care of... this chapter is a little longer than the others by roughly 1k- hope you guys don't mind._**

 ** _Disclaimer : I do NOT own bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Let's jump right in!-_**

* * *

I watched as the citizens all filed out of the throne room. I had lost track of how many hours had passed. It had felt like its own lifetime. And I tried to ignore the compassionate, understanding looks I was receiving from women of all ages as they were herded from the room.

But it wasn't their stares I felt like slim over my skin. I knew the Southeners were watching me as they too were ushered out.

After the buzz of my engagement had simmered down, and Lucas and Ryley took their place within the crowd, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra had been the next in line to offer up their allegiance.

Grimmjow had looked me dead in the eye, and smirked his congratulations. I had merely nodded, but had silently thanked the warrior. Because my new found hatred of him, had been a pleasant distraction.

As the room finally cleared- when Lord Luca and Ryley were the only souls left- and the heavy iron doors were sealed, Clark got up from his throne and stretched, long and hard- not a care in the world.

I stared at his back, and imagined what it would feel like to draw my sword and shove it deep between his shoulder blades.

After his muscles were thoroughly relaxed, he motioned for me to follow him to our guests.

I, of course, obliged with no hesitation.

"The Gathering went rather well, wouldn't you say, Clark?" Luca said, with a dark, knowing glint.

"Though I hate having to look upon their faces, the gifts they bring are well worth it."

As if they shared the same mind, they both turned their attention to Ryley and I, who had yet to say one word to one another. And with all the defiance I had left in my bones, I refused to speak. I would marry him, but talking to him was another thing entirely. Many marriages were silent. I'm sure if I was cunning enough I could get through the entire engagement without uttering a single word.

"I am very sorry for forcing this onto you, Orihime." My eyes were wide as they snapped to Ryley. I studied his face, and found only sincerity. I tasted not even an ounce of disdain in his voice. Sensed no trickery.

And I silently cursed him as he, without thought, destroyed my plans.

And even though the heir to the North was nothing but polite, my king was watching and I had a part to play. "I have been willing to lay down my life in the name of this kingdom long before I was Heir to it, whether it be a death on the battlefield or one at the Altar, it makes no difference to me." I expected Ryley to wince at my harsh tone but he just stared at me as if he also had the gift to taste lies in the air.

But, perhaps, the words alone would keep him from seeking me out before we were wed.

Clark chuckled, almost sympathetically, "While my daughter inherited the look of Bellator, she bites as harshly as any beast. Tread carefully, young prince, you don't want to lose a finger. " With that said the two kings strolled off, leaving us dangling. I wondered if fathers everywhere threw aside their children's happiness so easily.

They never even looked back, and their own armor must have been weighing them down because it seemed like years before they were out of sight. And the moment they rounded the corner, I nearly breathed a damning sigh of relief before remembering I was not yet alone.

I would have to be mindful of how easily he was overlooked.

Ryley didn't move to leave, he simply stood there, next to me, seeming at ease in the silence. Thankfully, he didn't speak, I would need more time to decide what kind of person I would be while we were alone. The mask I'd carefully crafted over the years had served me well in the presence of my father, and I had no doubt that its twin would work its own magic on my soon to be husband.

Gloom, as abruptly as every other emotion I'd ever felt, rose in my chest. And suddenly, being alone with him was too much to bear, even more so when I realized I'd be spending the rest of my pathetic life with him.

Without so much as a word, I turned my back, not even being able to look into his eyes before I did so.

Coward.

I might have been strong in body, but not of mind and that became undeniably clear as I made my way across the room- barely having time to rip the door open when his voice, at last, broke through the silence, "Well, who needs ten fingers, anyway."

When I looked back he was already gone.

With a clearing shake of my head, I closed the door and leaned against it. I spent a good chunk of time there, just leaning against the oak, my mind swirling in every direction.

Never had I imagined this outcome. And perhaps that alone made me a fool.

I'd known at a very young age what being born a woman would entail, what would be expected of me by my father and my people.

Though I'd expected to have more time.

To prepare, to find myself first. _To live_.

I really was a fool.

"I suppose congratulations are in order." I looked up, not at all in the mood for company, as Kisuke slipped out from behind a marble pillar. He strolled up to me, his hands casually placed in his pockets. "I don't suppose your Bellatonian family will be invited to attend what can only be the wedding of the century?"

"I'll put in a good word for you, but I don't think my opinion will matter much."

Kisuke chuckled, "Well, your opinion would certainly matter in Bellator. If you ever felt the need to visit."

I pushed off the door, standing at full height to take in his face. I found nothing but warmth and honesty yet still something about his tone made my spine itch. I could feel the unspoken plan brewing in every word, in every second he stood there, looking at me as if he knew anything about what lay beneath the surface. "And since when did I start giving a damn about Bellator?" I looked him up and down mockingly. "Or its ruler."

Despite my frozen words, he continued, "I just believe we have a lot to offer one another."

"The Golden City has nothing to gain from the East."

"And the East nothing to gain from The Golden City. But, you and I; the last of the Inoue line. I'd say we have a great deal to attain if we were to become allies." His ploy revealed at last. I opened my mouth, fully intending to shoot down whatever ludicrous plan he'd conducted to gain himself higher foot holds with my father, but he beat me to it. "How rude of me, you've only just gotten the news of your engagement, I'm sure you'd much rather bask in the glow of your unfolding destiny before making any more plans. Always a pleasure, my lovely niece. I am sure we will see each other again before I return East." He bowed at the waist, never removing his hands from his pockets, before he sauntered down the hall, disappearing quickly around the curve.

I'd never believed in destiny. How could I? When I'd always had to fight and bleed and break my finger nails for my future as I dragged it inch by inch to me. When every mistake I've made left a smudge on my once clean soul; and now all that's left is a whisper of a shadow were it use to reside.

 _Destiny_. Merely a word used by people who had nothing left to keep them going. As little hope I had, I still couldn't bring myself to believe the Gods would intervene.

You make the life you have. That's what I believed.

Devon Westbrook, in all his annoying perfection, found me there an hour later, still standing before the throne doors. As if I could just never leave and the future would never come.

Devon said nothing as I cut him with a glance, I stalked forward, knowing he'd follow. "I appreciate the warning, Comrade."

"You know the information wasn't mine to give."

Of course I did. "You let your general go into a situation blind."

"I let my king tell his general."

I scoffed, I should have expected nothing less from the stone faced captain. But it didn't make his blind allegiance sting any less. I pushed it aside, and moved on. "Who should we bring?"

He knew what I meant. "Juanca is very light on his feet, and has a sharp mind, he could be useful." I nodded my agreement. And he continued slowly, treading carefully. I knew why the moment he spoke. "Hisagi is the only one who doesn't seem to understand what the job entails. He would have the most to gain. Educationally."

I absorbed his suggestion as we walked, not saying a word. And when we were in front of my door I simply turned to him, "Meet me in the Center at dusk."

He didn't have time to even nod as I flung open the door and slammed it back with a force that shook the frame. Alone at last, I let the full weight of the day wash over me. Marriage to the North... I had been so absorbed with my self pity that I hadn't thought what that could mean.

Would my father send me there, to live out my days in the cold mountains until he was of need of me? Though, without me he would have to pick up the slack of my day to day duties, with training the new recruits, and ensuring law was enforced in all of the rims of the city. So, perhaps not.

But Clark never did anything that didn't benefit him in some way. What exactly did he hope to gain?

I knew I could think it through for hours, and never scratch the surface of all the possible outcomes. And I just simply didn't have the time.

My closet was an organised mess, over packed with a lifetimes worth of spares. Boots, uniforms, and even a few pretty dresses I'd probably never get to wear. I shifted through the sea of white military uniforms, I'd be needing to play a different role tonight. I found it, buried deep and I fished it out, holding it before me.

Black fighting leathers, normally used for war combat, when white would be too easily sullied, and harder to clean. But on occasions such as this, when I would need to slid through the shadows, and become apart of the night, black was always preferred.

It had been years since I'd last worn it but it still fit like a glove. Deep matted black that hugged every curve, the material so tight, you could practically see the scars forever etched on the skin beneath. Or maybe, it was only I who could see them through any fabric- no matter how thick.

As the setting sun shined in, I pulled my hair high, tying it with a thin strip of leather. Even when it was tied back, the ends still reached half way down my back and I wrapped them around my fingers as I studied myself in the long mirror tucked into a corner of the closet.

I looked like a creature that belonged in the dark. An assassin, a criminal.

The Kings Executioner.

No longer being able to stand the sight, I snatched a pair of boots, and pulled them on. Then, I stood before my bed, staring down on _Vladimir_ resting on top of the silk sheets. A hand ghosting over the sheath, then up to the golden rose resting at the top of the hilt that was wrapped in its vines. A beautiful tool of death...

Kisuke words floated through my head. Perhaps, I was a golden flower wrapped in thorns.

But not tonight.

I picked up _Vladimir_.

Tonight, I was death incarnated.

* * *

The Center was dark, candles scattered around the large space the only source of light. Devon and Sam were there, talking idly with the few recruits who had lingered after their training, speaking in hushed tones that halted once I'd cleared the stairs.

I could tell Sam itched to say something, and I wondered if the news had reached him, but the dark gloomy aurora around me must have stopped the words in his throat.

Juanca nodded toward me in greeting as my eyes passed over him, coming to rest on Hisagi to his right. His eyes held a certain kind of steadiness I'd never seen from him before but I could see, just beneath the surface, the twinge of pity in his young face. And I saw it in the eyes of all the others, as I took them in.

My jaw clenched as I addressed the room, "We are not here to discuss the Gathering, and I suggest filling your eyes with a more appropriate emotion before you meet the jagged edge of my blade." They had the good sense to drop their gaze. "Juanca, and," I pointed to a random recruit who's name I did not know. "you, have been selected to serve his Majesty. The rest of you can sink back to your barracks."

They all mumbled their farewells, and left quickly, looking like pups with their tails wedged between their legs. But Hisagi remained.

Sam ignored Hisagi's open mouth and rushed to say, "Five men to sack a merchants house? Am I the only one who thinks this might be over kill?"

"The king wishes to send a message." Devon replied.

"And that message would be?"

It was I who said, "That he is not a man who knows mercy."

Sam whistled under his breath, "Heavy."

With that Devon motioned the recruits towards the stairs, briefing them on their tasks and the background of the mission. I hung back, knowing Hisagi would only follow if I did not hear his thoughts. I turned toward him once they were gone, and Sam crossed his arms over his chest as Hisagi began, "I should have been chosen. Captain Westbrook said I would be one of those to go. Even Baker thinks it would be good for my training!"

I cut a glare to my right and Sam merely shrugged. "Regardless of their opinions, I say you aren't ready for this."

"I can intimidate a merchant as good as the rest of them!"

"Our task isn't to intimidate."

My words hung in the air, seeming to hit Hisagi right across the face. I felt Sam's gaze on me, and I threw a nod over my shoulder. I didn't need an audience for what was coming. Without so much as a nod Sam turned on his heel and started up the stairs.

I breathed deep, steadying myself. "Hisagi, do not think I didn't choose you because you aren't strong enough. It is my own weakness that prevents me from allowing you to accompany us in this task." I rested my hand on his shoulder. "Trust me, this is not something you want to see." _And I don't want you to see me as I truly am_. I I didn't say the words aloud. I wouldn't.

He'd seen his fair share of the horrors of the world. Of that I was certain. But some small, ever fleeting, part of me wanted to shield him from what was to come. From what I would become tonight. Fearing I had showed too much of my weakness towards him, I steeled my voice and squeezed his shoulder in a crushing grip. He winced. "And do not ever question me again."

And then I left him alone in the darkening Center.

He did not try to follow.

* * *

Overtaking the home had been easy.

Forcing the man from his bed and dragging him into his wide entry way was even easier. And that's where he remained, kneeling before me in his long white sleep shirt. His wife and three children were cowering in the corner, Juanca standing guard beside them stone faced.

The other recruit was standing in the long hallway leading to the bedrooms, and Sam's large body took up the entirety of the front door, leaving Devon behind me. Close enough to feel the heat from his body but far enough away so the merchant would know it was only me he should focus on.

My companions all wore dark masks, their eyes the only part exposed but not I. The merchant shook under my gaze, as Orihime Inoue the Enforcer of Law stared down on him. He knew why I was here, and he'd known from the moment he looked up into my unyielding eyes what was going to happen.

"Lox Dawlish, do you know who I am?"

His teeth rattled as he unclenched his jaw enough to squeeze out a forced, "Yes, Heir."

"And do you know why I have been sent to you?"

Lox began to shake his head in denial, and Juanca pressed the tip of his dagger to Lox's blubbering wife's cheek, drawing a few drops of blood. And Lox watched each one fall from her chin. "It would be wise not to lie to me. I was only sent here for you, but I will take all the lives necessary in the search of the truth."

The merchant vomited all over his obviously new, very expensive rug. The smell filled the air and I wished that I'd had the luxury of wearing a mask.

"I will ask you only once more. Do you, Lox Dawlish, know why I am here?"

This time, he nodded through his sickening sobs. "I know. And I will return all the remaining jewels... I- I'll give his Majesty all of the money I earned. Please, I'll do anything you want."

The only punishment I myself would deem worthy, but I knew my father. And I knew that he had sent me here for a reason. Devon could have easily taken care of such a small task, and would have done it well. But, this wasn't to send a message to the lower rim, it wasn't to intimidate the masses.

No, this was a show of my own allegiance. My own offering to my father and my king.

Clark would ensure that the people would fear me, that they would only have the courage to whisper my name in hushed tones and that they would have nightmares of the day I would rule over them. He would evoke such a powerful terror in them that, if I were to overthrow him as he himself feared, they would revolt out against me. This was all only a game of chess. Moves and counter-moves, all leading to one conclusion. And to save my own life, I would play my part as pawn well.

I felt nothing as I drew _Vladimir_. "You have stolen from your King and have brought dishonor on your name. And I, Orihime Inoue of two royal bloods, will take your life as retribution."

I felt nothing when his children began to cry, as I brought the blade to his neck.

I felt nothing when his wife began to beg for mercy as I brought Vladimir back, readying for the swing.

Lox was praying to the Gods, asking them to help him, to guide him and if need be to take his soul into his next life. I felt nothing. "Do not bother, the Gods have long since abandoned us."

I swung down, fast and true. A second of silence followed, and then the thud of his head as it fell into the pile of his own vomit. His children screamed and his wife held them against her bosom, staring blankly at her husbands open unseeing eyes. And then she too, began to scream. And scream and scream.

 _And I felt nothing_.

 _I felt_ _nothing_.

 _I felt nothing_.

 _I felt-_

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _Anyone else feel a chill?_**

 ** _We are beginning to see how far Orihime will go to ensure her own survival... I wonder what she would do for the safety of everyone around her?_**

 ** _Hmmmmm... Who knows? ;)_**

 ** _Chapter seven coming shortly, and I think you guys will like it!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	7. Chapter Seven

_**Boy, oh boy, am I exhausted! It is currently 4:40am and I have not yet gone to sleep and I have to be up in four hours. Yuck.**_

 _ **BUT I have been meaning to finish up this chapter and I was determined to post it before going to sleep!**_

 _ **So here it is, with all my sweat and sleep deprived tears. I hope you like it!**_

 _ **Disclaimer : I do not own bleach or any of its characters.**_

* * *

A flash in the dark.

The moonlight glinting on the steel of a dagger.

At least that's what I thought I saw as I left the vomit smelling home, Vladimir already clean and strapped across my back.

Sam, Devon, Juanca and the unknown recruit were already outside, huddled together while they waited for me. All of their backs turn from the alley across from the front door. The alley that was once again pitch back. No sign of life anywhere in it.

Devon threw me a pondering look, his eyes following the path of my own, as they searched in the darkness for another strike of light. Finding nothing.

Without a word, we all turned towards the High Court, becoming nothing more than whispers in the wind, not even the sounds of lingering footsteps trailing in our wake. But I couldn't help myself from looking back, just once more into that dark alley, and i could have sworn I saw a streak of red before I turned away again.

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

I was dragging my feet, _Vladimir_ suddenly feeling like a crushing weight on my back. The Courts were dark as I made my way through halls made of marble. And the world, for once, sounded quiet. I cherished that sense of solitude, let myself relax slightly in its comforting silence.

"They are becoming uncontrollable. Your reach may be long but they will never fear what they can not see." A males voice bounced off the walls, breaking into the quietness as I made my way past the council room.

"The Inbetweeners can do as they like in their trenches. Their turf wars mean less than nothing to me." Came Clarks smooth response. But it was his tone, edged in ice, that made me linger. I leaned casually against the wall besides the door, as the first voice countered, "It will matter a great deal once they've blocked trade routes from Bellator."

Clark's muffled laugh sounded out, "You of all people should know how much I despise Bellator, Kisuke. If not for your immense supply of Silver Armor selling at such high rates, I would have torn that city apart myself." Kisuke was quiet long enough that Clark sighed heavily. "If it means that much to you, you can take my Heir into The Inbetween. Let her frolic around in her shiny armor and fight some thugs, remind them what I have created."

Vexation, not at the words but at the truth that rang clear inside them.

"But Clark, you know the hatred they have for all Bellatonians. If Orihime set one foot into The Inbetween, she would never return. At least not all of her." Kisuke's voice sounded strained, almost distraught. And I wished I could see his face, so I could know how honest his feelings truly were.

I'd picked up many things in the rotten under belly of the Courts, Truth Telling only one of them. A twitch of the eye, a small fidget of the fingers is all I'd need to know the truth. But the voice was trickier, the sound of feelings are easier to forge.

"All the more reason for her to go." My head snapped sideways. "On one hand, she could completely desolate every opponent foolish enough to take her on headway. Which could only benefit us both, you get back your territory, and my iron hold on The Inbetween only strengthens." He paused, a swish of liquid- then a satisfied sigh. "And on the other, Orihime Inoue, beautiful Heir to the Golden Throne, the last hope to the survival of the Inoue name, dies a cruel and brutal death at the hands of Bellators biggest enemy. It would be enough to get your people to take matters into their own hands, to avenge their lost princess that they have never even met. It appears that, either way, you come out on top."

My breath swooshed out as I waited, most impatiently for Kisuke reply. Though, I knew already what his next words would bring.

Death.

Either to those in the forgotten lands of The Inbetween, or to myself. There was too much to gain, too much for either male to ignore.

"And you would just let her die?"

"If need be." My father answered, unbothered.

"But she is your Heir."

The laugh that echoed sent an icy chill coursing down my spine. "Heirs, Lord Kisuke, are very easily- and very pleasantly- made."

I didn't want to hear another word. But my body was tired- heavy. And it refused to move a single inch. I was frozen in a state of relaxation, my body nonchalantly slumped against the stone bricks, even while an overwhelming hatred pumped its way through my blood. Hatred for my father, hatred of myself, and a burning, searing hatred of the world.

The world that birthed me to my father. The world that left my skin covered in scars. The world that only gave me a rock while I drowned in a sea of sand and broken bones.

I heard a slam and then the shattering of a glass. "I will not allow her to die for your selfish needs. Orihime may be your daughter, but she is also my niece. She is not only yours; she is an Inoue, and she belongs to my people, and to me. Never forget that she should be wearing the Flower seal." His words were deafening. They shook the ground beneath my feet and set the wheels turning inside my head.

In a voice wrapped in silk, the king merely said, "Oh I have not forgotten, Kisuke. For I have punished her for it every day of her life."

After that, the words were hushed. But that didn't matter, I was already half way down the hall, leaving before the words could bring up old wounds.

* * *

A week passed before I saw Kisuke again.

He cornered me, literally. He caught up to me after training, while I caught my breath. Leaving me with no opportunity to flee.

"Still here, Kisuke? Stay much longer and I'll begin to think your love for Bellator is all but worthless words." I finished by taking a large slum of water and swishing it in my mouth before spitting it at our feet; the liquid turning a slight pink in my mouth.

He smiled tightly, "Oh, believe me, my dear, I wish to leave here and never see a speck of marble again. But, unfortunately, my business is not yet concluded. So- here I am." I felt no need to respond, and that became clear when seconds turned into minutes. "But, if you really wish for my departure, I could use your help with something."

Tensing only slightly, my mind slammed into thoughts of The Inbetween conflicts. "What can I do for you?" I wondered, smoothly. Always better to forge ignorance.

Kisuke clicked his tongue as he let his shoulder rest against the wall to my right. "I have an old friend I'd like to visit before I leave. But they reside in the lower rim, and I've heard of the decaying humanity that has been simmering there lately, so I was wondering if you'd accompany me."

"What's wrong with the body guards you brought with you from the East?"

"I'd prefer someone who knows the area, and someone the people know isn't to be trifled with. Plus, spending a little quality time together sounds nice, doesn't it?"

Absorbing his words, and every meaning that could be attached to them. I ran through the outcomes all within the seconds it took for me to wipe the sweat from my brow. And decided I really had nothing to lose. "Yes. Yes, it does."

* * *

The stench of the lower rim was something no one who has never lived in poverty could possibly understand.

Unwashed bodies and piles of Gods knows what littered the streets, and I had no doubt that one brush against the wrong person and I would come away with a black stain on my white uniform.

But, fortunately for my maids, they stayed clear.

In fact, they completely ignored me. Odd, considering the amount of wealth my armor alone could bring them. Yet they gave not even a glance in my direction as Kisuke and I made ventured deeper and deeper into the slums.

And the longer we walked, the worse the smell became. Until I almost couldn't remember what fresh air smelt like.

Even the sun seemed to be blocked out by the smog that gathered just above our heads. Thick and black. It turned the world inside the Rim into a dark grey place.

Kisuke walked beside me with a royal grace that was probably taught to him since his first steps. His style marked him as a clear outsider, his shiny sapphire tunic glistened within the ocean of dull colors, though it was half hidden beneath a deep charcoal coat that hung down almost to his knees.

He reeked of privilege. I wondered if he know how wise he'd been to ask for my help. No amount of Bellatonian guards could have kept the mob at bay.

"Do you spend a lot of time in this part of the city, Orihime?"

I opened my mouth to speak, forcing the words past the taste of filth on my tongue. "Not since I was young. Rim work is only for the less experienced soldiers, or for the unlucky ones who are stationed here permanently."

"Unlucky?"

I gestured around us, "No one wishes to be within the Lower Rim. Even the people who have lived here their entire lives, the people who have never lived any other way, know how terrible it is."

Kisuke sidestepped a particularly big pile of excreta, "So why not fix it? You know of the problems, you could find a solution."

"It isn't that simple. We would need countless soldiers to clear the Rim long enough to orchestrate the clean up- and even then there would still be fifty civilians to every one warrior. And nothing can be done if my soldiers are being torn apart by scavengers. Some problems can only be fixed by the people already within it."

"Then give them the tools to save themselves."

"And what happens then? If the lower rim doesn't exist, who will clear the fields? Who will wash the clothes and scrub the floors? Who will bring you Royals your breakfast, and bathe your children? The High Courts would not survive without the Lower Rim. None of _you_ would."

Kisuke came to a stop in front of a large warehouse door, but did not move to enter. "You are royal too, Orihime. Even more than I am."

Idiotic. As if just the blood within me would be enough to make me like him- like my father. They were men who had forgotten what it is to survive. Who have let themselves forget the harsh reality in which we all reside.

He set his hand on the wilted wood, and gave me a hard, steady look. "I trust that you know how to be discreet."

I was not given the chance to respond.

The door led us into a very small entry room, hay and dead mice scattered over the ground. The room was dim, the only light streaming in through the double doors in the far right corner. And next to those doors, stood a small cloaked figured, barely visible in the darkness. The only thing that kept me from reaching for my weapons was Kisuke's relaxed stance as we made our way over.

"Orihime, I'd like you to meet Bonnie Carter, your biggest fan." The figure threw back her dark hood and I was instantly struck by her bright shoulder length red hair. Her eyes narrowed toward Kisuke and I noticed that they were a similar hue to my own and her skin was pale save for a creeping pink rising on her cheeks.

"That was not what we agreed on." Bonnie seethed.

"Sorry, B. I just couldn't bring myself to say 'Bonnie Carter, Bringer of Nightmares.' With a straight face." Kisuke mocked.

I studied Bonnie as they bickered, she was small in height and weight but she appeared to be steady on her feet. A long scar began along the left side of her jaw and traveled down the length of her neck then disappeared beneath her cloak, I imagined it went down much farther than that. I scanned her hands casually, the skin of her knuckles were scarred and bruised, her nails broken and dirty. A brawler then.

If I had to judge her age I would say maybe 17, but I did not make the mistake to judge her abilities on that alone. By 17 I had done unspeakable things, and I sensed a similar darkness in her that rivaled my own.

As if sensing my attention, her eyes snapped to mine. They were uncannily still; firm. Not even a glimmer of the carefree attitude she's used with Kisuke . No, this was a stare only used for equals. As if to say, 'I see your darkness too'.

Kisuke kept talking but I did not look away from Bonnie, even when she broke her stare and snapped back into their conversation as easily as she'd left it. They spoke casually, but his hand rested nonchalantly on his sword hilt. He may have trusted me enough to meet with one of his informants but he wasn't foolish enough to believe me an unquestionable ally.

But as I studied the hand resting on his sword, as I listened to their easy flowing conversation, I nearly laughed at how unprepared he was.

For Kisuke, truly didn't know, that I was not the only monster in the room.

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _FINALLY, you guys have no clue how long I've been waiting to reveal this character!_**

 ** _And now, I can't wait for the next chapter!_**

 ** _I hope you have a similar feeling._**

 ** _Please leave a review if you have any thoughts!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	8. Chapter Eight

**WOW, I feel like it has been a really long time but its only been a week or so... Nonetheless, I'm really sorry for the late update!**

 **I'm so unbelievably excited for you guys to read this chapter!**

 **Thank you sooo much if you followed this story! It means everything to me! Really.**

 ** _Warning:_ We are getting into the darker stuff so please do not read if not prepared for the worst!**

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ **I do not own Bleach or any of its characters, just the story line.**

 **Without further ado- Chapter Eight here we come!**

* * *

"Who exactly are you?" I hissed through the cracks in their forever flowing conversation. Deciding to throw politeness to the wind after five minutes turned to ten.

Bonnie and Kisuke paused, and turned slightly to stare at me blankly. I counted two heartbeats before Bonnie turned to my uncle, "She isn't on board?"

Kisuke laughed under his breath as he shook his head in a small motion, "I was leading up to it."

"Leading up to what?" The irritation was clear in my tone.

With a big, overly dramatic, roll of her eyes in Kisuke's direction Bonnie took three steps toward me, until her tiny frame was right before me. The very top of her head coming to a stop at my brow, and the scar looked even more rough close up. Almost like she's tampered with the healing process. Like she wore the mark like a badge of honor.

And that was exactly how she held herself; Honorably.

"You, Orihime Inoue, have been chosen. Not for your allegiance, or status but because of your actions toward the weak and the helpless." Her fingers reached into her cloak, and _Vladimir_ was already half drawn before her cloak dropped, revealing her leather laced seal, etched into the blackness of her military grade trudge neck shirt in a piercing red.

At first I did not understand, because I had seen the image before, every day. In fact my hand was currently wrapped around it. For it was a long Claymore blade encased in thorns, wrapping up to entwine with a rose resting a top the swords hilt.

Her seal- it was _Vladimir_.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Bonnie grinned, in a way that told me I had asked the question she'd been wanting. "I could tell you, but I've always thought that seeing things with your own eyes, speaks louder than even the rightest of words."

She moved towards the doors I'd noticed upon entering, leaving her cloak at my feet. She placed both palms flat against the splitting wood, pausing just long enough to look over her shoulder at me and say with a poorly hidden enthusiasm, "Welcome, Heir, to the end of the world."

The doors being thrown open revealed to me a jaw dropping sight. One that made me wish I had never followed Kisuke into the slums.

The warehouse was deceivingly large, roughly the size of three cattle barns- and with a similar smell. There were three balcony levels, each one wrapping around the entirety of the large space, even taking up the space above my head. But it was not the size that stopped my heart clean in my chest.

The room was filled with Inbetweeners.

Every balcony filled to the brink, and even the ground level where I currently stood, was completely packed with bodies. Small and large, male and female alike.

I'd allowed Kisuke to lead me to my death.

I would never leave this place. Well, perhaps my head would. As they sent it to the king in a pleasantly wrapped gift box. I'm sure my father would mount it to his wall as a trophy.

I waited for them to charge, not even bothering to reach for my own weapons, I'm sure they would overpower me within seconds either way.

Yet, none of them even looked my way. They all continued on as if no one had entered, as if the Heir to the very throne that had spent years crushing their people did not stand utterly defenseless not ten feet in front of them.

"Don't mind the smell. I've been trying to encourage more hygiene but... you know how men can be." Bonnie shrugged, casually.

Having no words, I turned, slightly wide eyed, to Kisuke. Who also seemed rather relaxed. If not slightly amused by my expression. "You seem surprised, my dear?" Formed as a question but delivered with a snickering tone that conveyed it as more of a jab.

I, deliberately, chose to say nothing. Though, many hateful words filled my head, right along side the useful knowledge that the door we'd emerged from was the only exit. Instead of indulging in my annoyance, I surveyed my surroundings more thoroughly.

And I was still slightly shocked to find that no one cared about my presence. It seemed I was the only one not aware that I'd be here.

Though, across the room, I did notice a pair of eyes watching me. A tall man, with bright orange hair and muscle to spare, stood between two others who only glanced slightly in my direction, if only to see what had taken their friends attention away from them. And as soon as they knew, they turned away again- uninterested.

I tried not to be insulted.

"Don't worry, Orihime, I gave the order for them to keep their distance. They know you're merely here to observe today." Bonnie's gravely voice broke my attention away from the men. I turned the full weight of my gaze to her, and she did not shrink. Actually, she seemed to stand taller, like my eyes, somehow, made her feel more empowered. Odd.

"And what exactly am I here to observe, Bonnie Carter?"

Her mouth twitched at her name, and she folded her arms behind her back firmly. "The rebellion we have built to overthrow your father."

I scoffed lowly, for a moment not fully believing her words. But as the seconds ticked by, I could see in her young, yet brutalized, face that these were not words said lightly. The very air in the room shifted, as I very suddenly, felt the full and unoccupied attention of every person within ear shot.

' _What will she do?_ ' They must be thinking. And I had the same thought, my mind automatically switching into the role of General. Thinking about how many people were close enough to attack, using my past experiences to determine which one would strike first, if given the order. And wondering how many of them could I drag down to hell with me.

I had not yet decided who I should be in the next moments, _Heir_ or _General_? But, I was given a few more seconds to decide when a male, perhaps ten years my senior, with sleek black hair and a narrow face appeared behind Bonnie.

 _Bellatonian_.

"I know you didn't want to be disturbed today, Bronze." I blinked at the name. "But SS refuses to comply."

She turned her face towards him, her scarred tissue stretching over her cheek bone, as she spoke so lowly, I barely caught the end. "- bodies drop without cause in the lower rim far too easily. Let us see how SS feels then, Ishida."

Barely a nod given to her words. And a slightly curious snap glance at me, and Ishida was gone. But even through the rising sound of conversation surrounding us the nickname hung in the air and I took the opportunity to avoid the conversation that would surely leave me with a sword sticking through my chest, and asked, "Bronze?"

Bonnie looked up, rubbing at the nape of her neck, and so abruptly she appeared so completely young. "Oh, _that_. Everyone began calling me Bronze when I joined the cause."

"Because of your hair?" I threw out, not at all focused on her. My gaze once again back towards the only men who'd looked at me. Only the one remained, he'd come closer, just close enough for me to make out the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. And now, a dagger spin on the tip of his long index finger. The man, having noticed my attention, had the steel nerve to smirk.

And if looks could kill, he'd be dead already.

"My hair?" Bonnie questioned, confused for a moment, then barked out a laugh, "Oh, no, not because of that. The real reason- well, it's actually quite embarrassing, really."

I shifted my gaze back to hers, her tone- soft and slightly guarded- drawing my interest more than the words themselves, but her eyes were downcast, focused instead on her shuffling feet.

"If you don't wish to tell me, then I don't wish to know."

I was, perhaps, the last person allowed to demand answers, for I had more than enough to keep quiet about. Thinking the discussion over, I couldn't keep my stare from the man with the bright hair and sharp dagger, and he lifted a brow in a questioning arch. A challenge as clear as the sun itself. I had already begun my first step towards him, fully intending to smash his teeth in, when Bonnie's voice sounded out.

"Well, it's because of you. When I came here, I would always talk about you."

She crossed her arms, slouching slightly, settling in as she began her story.

"You probably won't remember, but when I was eleven I visited this city. Now, I realize, that I'd taken a walk far too late in the night, but in Bellator, no one fears such things. So when two men attacked me, I did not know anything about preventing their violence. To this day, I don't know why they chose me, I'd had a pack filled with food, even a few silver coins, but they didn't even look for them. Not even a glance. As I grew older, I began to think that they did it just for pure enjoyment. Of hurting something smaller and weaker than they were." Her hand drifted to her cheek, her fingers sliding over the scarred tissue. I could guess how far down that scar went and anger filled my gut, already knowing where this story led.

"Well, long story short, they were pieces of filth, and they died far too quickly." Her tone filled with a lethal venom that I understood deep in my very core.

"You killed them?" An eleven year old Bellatonian? Against two adult males? Even if they hadn't been from the underbelly of this city, I still wouldn't have put the odds in her favor.

"No, Orihime." She explained, softly. "You did."

Shocked, I studied her bright red hair, her piercing eyes, and tried to attach her to a memory I must have long since forgotten. Yet, as hard as I searched, I could not find it.

Though, my imagination could picture the scene far too easily, as if a door had been slammed open, a door I had welded shut.

It showed me a young girl, broken and bleeding, screaming at the men who had done the breaking. I walked through the darkness towards the smell of blood, towards the men standing over a naked girl, I listened as she begged for a mercy that wouldn't come.

I shook my head, clearing out the thoughts sprouting from within me.

"So, you do not remember.. that is alright. For I remember it as if it were yesterday. In one moment, he was moving to get on top of me, and in the next he had a Silver Sword sticking straight through his heart. And then, when he slumped back, I saw you, dressed in white. Truthfully, I thought you were an angel at first; my own personal savior. Your sword... dripping with his blood, your eyes shining with the promise of death. The other male, the one who'd been holding me down, began to beg you. Begging you to understand. First, you cut out his tongue," she smiled wickedly, as if savoring every detail. "and then you slit his throat wide and let him choke on his own blood. As long as I live I'll never forget it, even when my soul is ripped from my body. You'd only been 15 and you'd killed them so easily, had done it without remorse. It was then that I knew, that you could see what I saw, that they _deserved_ to die."

Bonnie straightened, a twinkle forming in her eye. "I had only seen you once before, in the arena that day you became Heir, it had only been two years but your soul had aged; darkened. But when you looked at me, I knew you were still righteous, deep down where it counts." She paused for a small moment before continuing, a new firmness finding its way into her tone. "You gave me your cloak, and told me to stop crying. You told me tears were useless against fists and if I didn't want this to happen again, then I should pull my head out of my ass and do something about it."

"As sensitive as always it seems." I laughed, attempting to lighten the overwhelming darkness that had begun to swarm like wasps into my stomach.

But, Bonnie did not laugh, she simply looked at me, her beautiful unyielding face, her eyes, somehow, soft. "You were right, of course, I had hidden within myself long enough. So, I came here, and I learned to fight and to steal and to lie. I never saw you again until now, but I spoke of you often, perhaps I even worshiped you. Soon, they'd began to call me Bronze because, since that day, I strived to be like you, to be as strong as you. The Silver Heir to the Golden Throne. You were everything I wanted to be."

Each word that passed her lips felt like a fifty pound brick being added to my shoulders, threatening to crush me.

I could not be a role model, for I wasn't a person to be rallied behind. My hands dripped in so much blood, that I wasn't sure if there was still skin beneath it all. I had done unspeakable things, I'd tortured and terrorized too many to count.

I couldn't even remember the men I had killed that night in the alley- how many others had I forgotten? Dozens? Hundreds?

"And when I look at you now, I know I am right, that you are destined to save us all."

I swallowed, thickly, her words lodging something deep in my throat. And the longer they hung in the air around us, the larger the lump became. "You know the things I have done, the things I have let be done. How many girls have been dragged into that alley? Girls I didn't save. I have killed men, women and children. Innocent people. I was forged by the Gods to destroy- that is all I have done and all I will ever do. You are already doomed, if you believe me to be your angel, or your savior. I am just a broken person who has lost the ability to save myself, let alone anyone else."

And even though every word I said was dripping in truth, Bonnie just continued to smile. She grinned so wide I thought her cheeks might rip open.

I took a step back and was met with a wall of flesh. Looking behind my shoulder I saw the man who had been staring at me all this time. The dagger long gone, but the smirk remained.

"Don't you see," Bonnie began, gesturing to the crowd that had gathered to listen, "we are all like you. We have all done terrible deeds, all the things we had to do, to survive this horrid city. Sometimes, we aren't given a choice, Orihime. But if my only options are to kill or be killed," she took a deep steadying breath, "well, then give me a rock, and I'll bash my opponents head in."

Her choice of words wasn't lost to me. Many of her soldiers had probably been born here, and, more likely than not, they'd been brought to watch my trials all of those years ago. Which means they were all there to see me kill my brother and were all old enough to remember it.

Kill or be killed, a very poetic way of describing it.

I stepped away from the man, and didn't stop until I was looking directly into Bonnie's eyes. "My father is a very busy man, but you would be a fool to think he does not know everything that goes on in his city. I do not know why he has let you play the rebel but I can assure you that his mercy will soon wear thin."

I looked about the room, at all the young faces, they stared back and I could see myself in their shimmering orbs. They believed me to be something I was not, something I could never be. They thought we were the same, and perhaps we were, but none of them had the same weight to bear. None of them knew what it truly cost to survive.

"The king is not a kind man, as you all know. Imagine, your homes burned to ashes; your families trapped in the flames. And if you try to escape, if you run, he will send me after you. And believe me when I say that I will kill each and every one of you myself. Do not take my words as cold and uncaring, take them as the warning they are. His justice will soon be upon you," I looked back at Bonnie... _Bronze_ , "make sure you are prepared for it."

She nodded, understanding the risk I was taking for her, for them all. But despite my threats, as I left the warehouse- leaving Kisuke behind- I felt lighter than I had in years.

For deep inside me, a tiny part of my blackened soul had begun to glow.

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 _ **Well, hello Ichigo! Everyone has been waiting, oh so patiently, for you!**_

 ** _I know he didn't have any dialogue in this chapter but hey, at least you know he exists! ^-^_**

 ** _Please leave a review if you have any thoughts! I'd love to hear them!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	9. Chapter Nine

**_Yay faster update! I was just too excited to finally have some Ichihime interactions that I couldn't wait to upload!_**

 ** _Thank you so much for all the new reviews! I love them all and glad you enjoy my story so far!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Let's get into it!-_**

* * *

I'd heard the rumors of a rebellion for years. Talk of a simmering anger in the lower rim and in The Inbetween that was blossoming into more, but it had always just been words, whispers.

But, now, I could not pretend I had not seen their numbers. All of those young rebels strong, willing and ready. And those were only the ones within the walls, I'm sure their numbers only increased the further East you roamed.

How had they gotten into the city?

I surveyed, very casually, the faces of those around me. The men sunken into the walls, their hoods up to over most of their features, their heavy cloaks wrapped tightly around them. Protection from the blistering sun? Or a way to conceal hidden weapons?

All of the women, hair piled high atop their heads, sweat dripping from their furled brows as they concentrated on the steaming water before them, boiling out all the muck before daring to take a sip.

Why did no one look at me? Just like at the warehouse... where the rebels had already known I would arrive. Had all of these people been told? They could all be rebels, hiding in plain sight, and I would never know.

Even the best of warriors can not fight an enemy they do not see.

"You seem distraught, Princess." I whirled around. Only to find the rebel from before, the smirky one who liked sharp objects, standing relaxed, his hands hidden within his pockets. "Care to share? I hear I'm a fairly good listener."

His voice was lighter than I'd imagined. More carefree than I ever would have guessed. We faced off, neither of us moving. "Why have you followed me?"

"Don't sound so bothered by it, you'll hurt my feelings." He paused to smirk a bit, then his grin slightly faded as my expression only turned even more annoyed. His own expression became serious, as he jabbed his thumb over his bulky shoulder. "Oh, you want me to stick to the shadows? I mean, I can do that, but being your bodyguard seems like a better cover than 'creepy stalker'."

"My bodyguard?" I tested out the words, never in my life expecting to say them together. I shook my head at the strangeness of it. "Who even are you?"

The man bellowed a laugh from deep in his stomach. "Oh, right, introductions have never really been my thing. My name is Ichigo, and it seems we are destined to spend a large amount of our time together."

Me, turning on my heel and strolling away was probably not the response he'd expected, but it was the only one he received.

Ichigo caught up quickly, his long legs making his strides long and true. But he slowed himself down to my pace, keeping a polite distance on my right, his hands still resting inside his thick pockets. He didn't seem at all bothered by my sudden departure, in fact his mouth was turned up in a small delighted smile.

Noticing me observing him, he smiled wider. "You didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, did you? I was told to stay with you at all times, and I take my orders very seriously."

"And who gave you this order?"

"Your uncle, of course."

Jaw clenched, I turned forward again.

Kisuke seemed determined to force my hand. Showing me his allies within the rebellion, the rebellion which was currently simmering in the heart of my city. The one that wanted to destroy my home, my father, and everything I'd ever known. What exactly was the action he wanted from me?

"Look at me as your constant connection to Bronze. Now that Kisuke is returning East, he thought you could use an insider, that way, if you need us, we are never too far away."

I scoffed, "Are you sure you aren't here to make sure I don't bring my army down upon your cozy little hideout?"

Ichigo considered it for a moment, and then gave just the smallest of chuckles, his shoulders coming up into a half shrug as he retorted, "Maybe I'm here for a lot of reasons. But whatever those reasons are, you better get used to seeing me around, because until I'm told otherwise, I'm here to stay."

"Yes, you sound very put out."

"Well, I _did_ volunteer." He informed me in a light voice.

We were drawing closer to the gates leading to the merchant district, I could see the guards standing tall, their armor shining bright under the suns rays. I would reach them within minutes.

I had many variables to consider. There were far more pieces on the board than I'd grown use too. And I was surprised to find out that my life had been fairly simple up until this moment. I had always known where I stood in the grand scheme of things, and I had somehow found a way to accept it. But now, with all the new doors being swung open... I had conflicts I'd never thought i'd have to deal with.

It was clear now, there would be no stopping the bloodshed. There were too many rebels, brewing in hatred and need for war. And I knew the moment my father learned of them- if he did not know already- none of them would survive.

There had been hundreds of people in the warehouse. People with families, with lives... some of them I myself had saved in the past. And if I went to my father, told him of what I'd learned today, I would be the ones taking their lives, no matter who it is that swings the sword.

Did I want those deaths to weigh me down even more?

The soldiers would spot me in moments, they would want to know why I'd left with one man and returned with another. There would be questions too difficult to answer and I decided, for now, to play my cards close to my chest. "Stick..." I began, turning towards my new rebel shadow, only to find myself facing empty air.

Ichigo had vanished, seemingly into thin air. But the vaguely familiar feel of his careful eyes on my back told me that he was near.

I passed the guards with merely a nod, walking slowly through the long narrow tunnel towards the smells and sounds of the shopping square.

When i was once again in the shining sun, I felt Ichigo's gaze, and soon felt a large male presence at my back. As sly as a fox, he was walking with me again, step by step. Looking to all the world like he'd been there the whole time.

It seemed, I'd been given a very skilled shadow, indeed.

* * *

 _The girl laid in a dark, quiet room. Where the walls were made of stone and the air was cool._

 _She had not seen the sun for weeks, had not felt the wind against her skin. Had not felt anything besides blistering, blinding agony. Her fingernails, each ripped from the tips of her fingers, sat bloodied in a pile against her naked stomach. The small weight of them gave her crippling mind something to focus on._

 _For she could not see, could not hear past the silence, all she could do was feel. Every open, gushing wound, every sore muscle, and the very faint pounding of her broken heart. The pain had become her entire world. It was all she could remember, and she'd lost every fragment of herself within it._

 _The girl, smart as she was, knew she was not alone in the room._

 _For she could also feel his presence... smell his stench._

 _It had been hours since he'd last touched her, the relief of that would be short lived. For the man drew near, circling his prey like an animal starved to insanity._

 _More pain was coming; this she knew._

 _He started slow, with the brush of his coarse palm over her forearm, sliding up to the viciously bruised shoulder that now felt numb in comparison to everything else. He traced the wound. The only one he had not inflicted._

 _The girl did not flinch. Did not cry. No, the girl looked into the face of her tormentor, the monstrous face that would haunt her far past these weeks and begged in a voice so unlike her own, "Kill me."_

 _The monster, with claws and fangs big enough to shred her to pieces, smiled. "I already have."_

 _And this time, when the monster tore into her flesh, the girl couldn't even bring herself to scream._

* * *

Ryley and I had been spending the entire day together.

When I'd awoken he had been pacing out side my chamber door, his chin cupped in his palm and his eyebrows knitted together fiercely. And while I wanted nothing more than to slam the door and never emerge again, I'd felt something close to pity when he'd stuttered out an invitation to spend some time with him.

Yet I'd still reminded him of my duties as Heir and more importantly as General, and he quickly amended that perhaps instead it was he that could spend time with me.

And so, where I went, Ryley followed. He ate breakfast with my father and I, not once even seeming uncomfortable under the kings gaze. Though that changed rather quickly once we made our entrance into the hollowed Center. My recruits having already removed the majority of their clothing, their bruised skin dripping in sweat, all turned towards the young heir to the north, and did not hide their clear disapproval at his presence.

But it was not them that caused his discomfort, it was when I removed my own top, pulled my hair into a high ponytail and jumped into the sparing ring with men twice my size, and laid them flat on their backs.

We spent a good amount of time there, until even my body was sore and could no long continue.

Lunch, we spent alone. And he spent it trying to fill the silence with talk about his home, his older siblings and their children. He spoke of his mother, whose face I could barely remember, and how much he missed her- then quickly apologized for his carelessness, since he knew I no longer had a mother to miss. And I shook my head and reminded him that it had been a very long time since her passing and not to worry.

There was never an awkward silence, or any silence at all. I don't think I have ever listened as much as I did during my time with Ryley.

Soon, it was time for the late evening patrol on the wall.

It took me longer than normal to reach the top, having to take breaks every other landing for Ryley to catch his breath. And when we, at long last, were standing on its head, the sun was close to setting over the horizon.

"Man, you do this everyday?" He asked, his chest still heaving, his hands shaking just slightly.

"Normally, yes. Though, it isn't really apart of my responsibilities. I enjoy the exercise." _And the view_. I added in my head.

Ryley was laughing as we began strolling, "This morning wasn't enough exercise for you? I don't know how you can even move, I feel sore just from watching."

"Well, it use to be more difficult. When I was fifteen I would need to take ice baths every night. But, I suppose, with time, the body can become used to just about anything."

Whistling low, Ryley stared out into the setting sun. "This is something I can get use to. Sunsets in the North are beautiful, but nothing like this."

I turned also, watching the sky as bright colors of orange, pink and purple swirled around the fluffy clouds, illuminating the world in a sea of color. The sun reflected on the miles and miles of open sand dunes, leaving each speck to glimmer and glow.

A scene I saw every day, yet still remained beautiful.

"It must be amazing to live here." I glanced at him. "Where it's always warm, and the outside world is so quiet. It seems really peaceful. I think... I'll enjoy living here." He met my eyes and grinned.

I could only stare for a moment. Not being able to understand how he could come to such a wrong conclusion. The truth of this city seemed so very clear to me. A cage made of sand and stone, a prison of walls and secrets.

I wanted to shake him and scream at him that he should never have come here, that nothing good would ever find him within these walls. But I said nothing, instead I looked over my shoulder at the very city he saw as beautiful.

And standing on the wall with Ryley, I could almost see it as he saw it. See it through eyes that had never seen horrors. I imagined what that must be like, to view the world with such optimism. To hold such an ideal in his hands without fear of crushing it.

But I couldn't look past the things I've seen. Couldn't see the world as anything but the terrible brutal place it was. If I were to hold his optimism in my hands, it would crumble; the unwashable blood would turn it red and cruel.

So, I continued to say nothing, choosing to let him have his hopes. Even if I believed them unobtainable. He talked more about it as we walked, about his eagerness to rule, his ideas that would benefit my people. I tried to listen, but my attention was easily stolen by the view of the city. And for a moment, I imagined this was my first time seeing it, and I could understand his confusion. Because there was a certain beauty to it, a beauty that always had a way of captivating me when I walked high up on the walls. Perhaps, because it was easier to view it as beautiful when you were too high above it to see all the wrong.

I drifted to the edge and peeked over, the wall stretched so high the people below looked to be tiny dots. Without thinking, I let myself sway forward, readying myself for the familiar drop, when I was suddenly yanked backwards.

"Are you crazy?" Ryley hollered, his face inches from mine. "You could have fallen to your death!" His grip on my arm tightened at every word as his voice grew higher, and his fingers dug in sharply.

"There's a net about 15 feet down." I said simply, not bothering to loosen his crushing hold on my arm. "There was no danger."

And it was true. A few years ago, the suicide count had skyrocketed when people realized the fall from the wall could kill them. Clark soon noticed the number of workers in the lower rim begin to decrease significantly, and the High Court was inconvenienced by this. So, because he cared so much, he'd installed suicide nets along the entirety of the wall. Problem solved.

I could tell my response did nothing to soothe Ryley, so I took two steps away from the ledge and said, "Since it bothers you, I will never do it again."

A smile slowly lit up his face, and finally his fingers loosened, and drifted down my arm to brush against my palm before dropping back to his side. My arm ached dully, the blood finally flowing freely. "Good... Sorry I raised my voice at you, I just was surprised. But I'm glad we can agree so easily, it'll help us in the future."

And with that he began walking again, talking once more about his hopes and dreams. I walked beside him, silent. My gaze often drifted to the edge of the wall, and I couldn't help but wonder, if he had thought there truly wasn't a net to catch me- that I was about to willingly leap to my own death- should he have let it go so easily?

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 ** _._**

 _ **That's all I got for you this time, guys!**_

 _ **Let me know what you think of Ichigo so far!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	10. Chapter Ten

**_I hate to say it.. I really do... but i'm not a big fan of this chapter._**

 ** _Orihime just didn't want me in her head the last few days. She pushed me out any chance she got! But I really didn't want to keep you guys waiting._**

 ** _Which is why this chapter is slightly shorter than the others._**

 ** _Not to mention the world really didn't want me to post it either since EVERYTHING went wrong at least once._**

 ** _BUT I'll just let you guys decide how you feel about it... Rant over._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Let's get into it!-_**

* * *

The sun was fully set, encasing the world in a familiar darkness.

Walking through the city, I could watch as the night slowly came alive beneath the canopies of the shops and restaurants. With its cool air and quiet hum. Night was a beautiful thing. Where no one rushed, because they had no where to be. When people could sit outside under the moon and talk and drink with their families and friends. The hustle of the day winding down.

I had never understood why anyone would fear the night. Never understood why the darkness was seen as wholly evil. I had seen plenty of horrors in the broad light of day. But no one awoke in the morning and feared that light.

But, I suppose it is a natural reaction to fear the things you can't see.

A dull humming in my ear got louder and louder. Until in it I could hear my own name. Being repeated over and over.

Head snapping, I remembered I wasn't alone. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I was wondering if you were hungry... You really have a way of getting sucked into your thoughts, don't you?" Ryley said it while laughing; joking. But I did not recognize that until the words had already left my mouth. "They have helped shielded me from many horrors."

The words were too harsh; too true. And I could see the small discomfort on Ryley's face, before it was quickly replaced with a sickening pity. I wanted to snatch the words back. But he was already opening his mouth. I was faster. "I actually have dinner plans with the king." The words were timed perfectly, for right up ahead were the wide marble steps leading to the High Court. They gleamed with the promise of escape. "So, we will part here. Have a pleasant night."

I half jogged up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Hoping to leave behind a hollow part of me that I had never meant to share.

* * *

"And how is your relationship with the boy progressing?" Clark asked before bringing a strawberry to his lips.

"As well as can be expected, Father."

"Orihime, you know how I hate indirect answers."

I had to force myself not to clench my teeth. Clark had taught me how to read those around me, how to see who they truly were. And in doing so he had also taught me how to hide myself beneath a blank face.

For emotions do not exist if they can not be seen or heard.

So I knew he knew nothing of the unending rage and hatred I truly felt when I said, "He is very persistent. We spent many hours together, and it seems he is looking forward to our future."

I thought of wide stretches of grass. I thought of the soothing warmth of the sun against my skin. All the while, I kept my eyes fixated on the sixteen peas on my plate as I divided them into neat groups with my fork. My dinner sat otherwise untouched.

"Splendid. I was very worried he wouldn't take a liking to you. Beauty only holds a mans attention for so long- you would be wise to remember that. And we need the North to feel included in our power. So," He took a large gulp of his wine. "keep the young heir as... invested as possible."

I looked up, shifting my mask.

Pulling my brows together: Confusion.

A very slight purse of the lips: Clear distaste.

I only had to fake one.

"He is a young man." The king explained. "Who no doubt has a very normal appetite for women. He can stray as much as he wishes once the vows are made but, for now, I would like you to keep him thoroughly entertained."

I stared at my father across the table. Stared at him like he had no just uttered those vile words and it took every bit of self control not to throw my wine into his knowing face as he waited, ever so patiently, for my reply.

And I knew the words I had to speak, knew the tone I must say them in, but bile rose, clogging my throat.

I was feeling too many things at once, and I knew my mask was crumbling. I felt it in every second that ticked by.

His anger would come soon. He hated to be kept waiting. I could see the words, I could practically hear them, they were being said repeatedly inside my head. But the voice was not mine, it was his. And to hear them in my own, to actually speak the words out loud... the thought alone was enough to make me sick.

Clark leaned forward, his eyes closing into slits, his mouth opening to no doubt say what we both knew. That whether I said the words or not, I would be forced to-

I was saved by the door being thrown open. A woman, clad in a long black gown strolled into the room as if she'd been there a million times before. Her hair was a honey gold, that swept well past her shoulders, the very tips brushing against the curve in her spine. Her skin was so pale it seemed to glow, like a light was lit beneath her skin the crimson lips seemed to be the only color on her.

The woman didn't look at me at first. Her and my father met eyes, and she held all the air in the room. Even Clark seemed to be at a complete loss for words. No, that wasn't right. He seemed to be nearly hypnotized by her.

My father had never been so still in the presence of anyone. Or anything.

And when her black eyes slid to me, when I felt her attention slid over me like bugs crawling over my flesh, I decided I would rather die than ever face her again.

My back straightened at the thought that seemed almost shoved into my mind.

I was Orihime Inoue; Heir to the Golden Throne. And I feared nothing.

"How did you get in here?" I barked at her, my chair screeching as I rose abruptly. A perfectly groomed eyebrow rose, as her slender body turned more toward me. Her dressed moved and shined like a spiders web, sticking to the ground as much as to her body.

"Leave us." Clark spat. And though he never took his eyes away from the woman, I knew he was speaking to me, and I whirled to him.

"Father." I protested.

"Leave us!" Not asked, not told but ordered. Commanded.

Slowly, I looked to the strange woman once more. And this time felt no trace of that wickedness, the glow to her skin seemed to have dimmed. Leaving behind just a beautiful face and a smile that seemed to be cut from glass.

Yet even still something felt undeniably wrong in her. Death rolled off of her in waves. But she had an aura I secretly craved to have, a presence that over took the room and demanded all attention. I felt her stare on me as I left, and in that stare I saw my death as clear as the door in front of me. And it was painful, but swift.

I tried to ignore it, but as I walked down the hall, inside of me was a small hope that she would be up for the task.

* * *

 _There was more of them now._

 _More of the monsters that ripped her open and torn everything out. She felt their hands over her body, sharp nails leaving scratches in their wake. They licked her glistening blood from them, slurping over the taste of her innocence. Digging in for more, never stopping to let her rest._

 _The girls eyes were open, opened wide, burning against the icy air, though there was nothing to see. Her lungs filled with their breath. Her chest rose up with it, and when she exhaled they breathed it in._

 _They were everywhere. Above her, beside her, within her. She did not ask for death. She did not ask for anything._

 _Because the girl, locked inside the safe cocoon of her mind, did not feel their hands._

 _They were there for hours. They cut open each healed over wound, so it bled anew, open and gushing. The monsters tongues were warm against her skin, they slid them over every sliver of ruined flesh, feasting._

 _And the girl felt nothing._

 _Absolutely nothing._

* * *

I took far longer in the bath that night than usual. It was like every word my father had spoken was written in oil on my skin; like I was covered in an invisible muck. No matter how many times I washed, the feeling wouldn't go away. I scrubbed until my skin was raw and red, but to no avail. Eventually, the water turned icy and brought goosebumps over my skin, forcing me to leave the hope of getting clean behind.

I emerged from the bathroom, hair dripping, clad in only a towel, to find Ichigo lounged comfortably across my bed. His arms propped behind his head, with lightly closed eyes and a child's lollipop sticking out from between his lips.

If I was a lesser woman, I would have squealed.

"Don't worry, I'll keep my eyes closed until you get decent." He popped the candy out of his mouth. "Unless, of course, you have any other ideas."

Not feeling that his words were worthy of a reply, I escaped into the closet, throwing the curtain closed with a whoosh of force, his delighted chuckled following close behind.

When my cheeks had returned to their normal shade and I had clothes on my back, I stalked with the anger of a thousand conquered kingdoms towards him. In my absence, he'd shifted from the bed into the far left corner, where towers of book cases took over the large space.

Turning he mused, "Interesting choices. I never would have pegged you as an avid reader."

"Funny. Because I never would have pegged you as a pervert, yet here we are." I fumed back, crossing my arms.

"If I was a pervert, I wouldn't have closed my eyes now would I?"

"If they hadn't been, you would no longer have eyes to close."

"Oh, I believe you." He admitted, laughing. Ichigo plucked a book off the shelf and plopped heavily into the nearest chair, his long legs hanging freely over an armrest. Flipping through it carelessly. "So, who's the guy?"

Grinding past my annoyance, I looked at him steadily. "Do you have a reason for being here?"

Ichigo glanced over the books spine, his eyes clear and piercing. "I've already explained my reasons. Did being in _Loverboys_ presence make you forget all about me? That's cold, Princess. Real cold."

"When my uncle gave the order to keep an eye on me, I don't think this is what he had in mind."

"Well, that's up to interpretation." He laid the book in his lap. "But I really am curious about Mr. Chit-chat. Come sit, we'll have girl talk."

I didn't move. Rubbing my hands over my face, resisting halfheartedly the strong desire to hurl a book at his face. "Look, it's been a long day and I really just want to be alone. Please."

Perhaps it was the near desperation in my tone, or maybe he could tell, that in my current state, I wouldn't be very entertaining company but something softened on his otherwise hard face, and he stood- returned my book to its rightful place, and went to leave. But when he was standing before the door, he paused, his hand hovering over the knob. "Make sure you ice that arm." And then with a click, Ichigo was gone.

Standing alone, I looked down, to where you could see the soft bruises forming in the shape of fingers.

.

.

.

 _ **Oh Ichigo... Orihime just doesn't feel like playing with you tonight.**_

 _ **We are all pretty bummed about it too, don't worry.**_

 _ **Please leave a comment and tell me how you felt about this chapter. I need the feedback desperately!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	11. Chapter Eleven

**_Hello hello. Quick update is a good update in my opinion!_**

 ** _Thank you to all of you who reviewed and reassured me that last chapter wasn't as terrible as I thought, you guys are the best!_**

 ** _Just a small little Author Note: When Sam calls Orihime, "Inoue" it isn't a formal thing like it is in Japan. He says it as it would be used in America, as if she were 'one of the guys'. Just thought I should mention that!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or any of its characters but everything else is mine._**

 ** _Let's get into the thick of it!-_**

* * *

The next week presented itself with a routine.

Wake up, have breakfast with my father and Ryley, train, meetings with the council, meetings with the wedding planners, lunch with Ryley, train even more, patrol on the wall, dinner alone- though Ichigo sometimes emerged from the shadows to sit with me- and then back to my room to bathe and sleep. Then repeat.

Routines can be good. They can give you a certain amount of control in an otherwise hectic world. There was an almost calming feel to knowing exactly what was going to happen next. I'm sure that's how some people really feel.

But I most definitely wasn't one of them.

Ever since Ryley had come to stay in the Courts, I'd felt smothered. Wake up, Ryley was there. Finish training, there he was again. Like he too was constantly watching me. I'm sure he and Ichigo would get along well, talking in the shadows, waiting for the worst time to appear in front of me.

But the one good thing Ryley brought with him was peace of mind. For Clark had been distant, a pleasant distant. Yet, there were bad things to be taken from it, being left alone made me far too comfortable. I no longer felt the need to watch over my shoulder. To hold my breath before I turned a corner.

Though, I had a feeling that Ryley was not the cause of Clark's distraction. I had not seen the woman in black since that day in the dining hall, but I knew she remained in the courts. I would not forget the slimy feeling of her presence as long as I lived.

Night was beginning to fall, the sun drooping over the horizon. Another day gone. Another day lost. And a smaller step towards my future; bleak as it may be.

And for the past half hour I'd been trying to ignore the small chill at the back of my neck, but it had only grown. "You might as well walk with me, if you're gonna make your presence so obvious." I called behind my shoulder. It was a few seconds before I heard his footsteps come up behind me.

"And here I thought I was being stealthy." Ichigo sighed, as he fell into step beside me, his hands in his pockets. "I don't think you have a stealthy bone in your body." I threw back. Over the week I'd come to feel his eyes far easier. Which lead me to believe that his skill within the first few days had just been a mirage, a trick of luck that only lasted until I had learned more about his movements.

He leaned in close to me, whispering, "Or is that what I want you to think?" Tapping his finger against his temple, clearly making it a real thinking point. My lip twitched up.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, setting a comfortable rhythm.

"So, I've been following you for a while but I don't think I know anything about you, aside from the obvious." He stated out of the blue.

I couldn't help but smile, just a bit, at his attempt at small talk. "Oh? And what's so obvious about me?"

"That you're a real talker, like man I just can't get you to shut up sometimes!" I laughed out right, the sheer force of it shocked me. And even Ichigo seemed a bit surprised. "You should do that more often, it's nice." He said it so quickly, as if it were nothing, before moving on. "Oh! I know that you are an avid reader, even though you have some pretty dark tastes."

I started at that, "I don't have dark tastes!"

He looked sideways at me, "I've seen the contents of the library you call a room, half the books in there end in death! Unless, of course, you have a secret stash of dirty alone time books, in which case please tell me all about it."

"Oh, please." I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Besides, you already know more about me than I know about you."

"You know plenty." He shrugged.

"I know you're from Bellator. And that you're an awful spy. That's about it." Once the words were out, I realized how easy it was to say them. How quickly they flew out, without a thought. I don't think I had ever spoken to anyone so casually. If anyone were to see us, and tell my father...

"What else is there to know about a guy?" he said it softly, like he could sense the shift within me and was worried about me shrinking further into myself.

Ichigo was a rebel, he was here to gather information. He was a traitor to the crown, and yet here I was, talking freely with him. His words from earlier floated in my head. Could he actually be tricking me into believing him a terrible spy, so that slowly, I would let my guard down and speak of things I should never talk about. With anyone. And he would take those words back to the rebellion, to Kisuke and Bronze.

And what of Ryley; What would he have to say if he learned of his betrothed walking on the wall with another man? What would Clark do if he believed I was stepping out on my soon to be king?

Ichigo laid his hand on my shoulder gently, I swirled around, literally stumbling out of my thoughts. "Don't touch me." I hissed, throwing a cautious look over my shoulder, knowing Clark's eyes were always watching.

He withdrew his hands as if I had burned him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" He cut himself off before looking down, his eyes covered in shadows. And when he looked up again, they were unbothered.

"I guess, you'll always remain a mystery. I'll let you continue alone from here. I'll be seeing you, Princess."

And with that he was gone, disappearing back into the shadows. And this time, though I knew he was still watching, I could not feel his eyes. Making me certain of my suspicions, Ichigo was a far better spy than he'd led me to believe.

And I was really beginning to hate this patrol.

* * *

"Pick it up!" I shouted over their echoing footsteps.

Up and down the stairs they ran. Up, down. Up, down. It had barely been twenty minutes and they looked like they were ready to explode if it meant they could breathe freely. They would need far more stamina.

"I don't think they realized how true my words were that first day." Sam laughed from beside me, arms crossed. "You really do make me look like a picnic, Inoue."

"You just don't push them as far as you should." I corrected. "They might hate you for it, as I'm sure they hate me now, but we hated our instructors too, at first. But now we see why we needed the tough love."

He was nodding, never taking his eyes off his boys as they forced their knees high. "I've lost enough of them this year, Orihime. And I'll push them as hard as needed to ensure that I don't lose anymore."

I remembered what it was like. To be the one running up those steps. To watch my comrades disappear month by month, to watch them die in the trials. Some right in front of me. An, perhaps it should have made me more understanding, make me want to let them rest, but it was just the opposite. Sam and I had never been allowed to rest, and I had no doubt that is why we were here today.

"Speaking of love..." Sam ventured, his voice turning heavy. "How are things going with the Northerner?"

Gritting my teeth I huffed out a big sigh, "He is... very Northern."

"Yes, people from the North have a way of being that way."

"That's not what I mean. I've just grown up in this world." I gestured around me vaguely. He nodded. "And- not that I put much thought into it, but I always assumed that the man I married would be more..." I struggled to find the words. "Like you, I guess."

"We can't all be soldiers, Hime."

"Yeah, I know but how am I to trust him, Sam? Trust him to lead my people, to lead you- and them." I was shaking my head, not liking the idea at all. "He's never even been to war, yet I'm suppose to allow him to send my men into battle, knowing I can not go with them? That I will be shoved to his side, pretending that this was never my way of life? I can't do it. I won't."

These thoughts had been rising and rising inside of me ever since the Gathering. A rising fire, and ever moment spent with my betrothed only added more fuel to the flames. Ryley was kind, and I had no doubt that he would make a great husband. But that did not mean he would make a good king. And I had lived every second of my life being bred into a ruler the Golden City deserved. One it needed.

Ryley had stolen that from me.

No, not Ryley. Clark.

My fathers reasoning had yet to be revealed but the more I brooded and sulked the more it seemed likely that this was a core motivation to this arranged marriage.

"I can understand that. I've known you practically my whole life, we have fought together countless times, and I respect you as a general and that respect will remain when you are Queen... But as your friend, I think maybe you are looking at this the wrong way." Glancing sideways, I saw he was already staring down at me, his body still turned towards the recruits. "Aren't you tired, Orihime? Tired of the death and the unending scars? Don't look at this as a door being closed, look at it as one you never thought could exist being swung open. This could be your way out, Hime. If I were you I'd at least consider taking it."

I stared at him, baffled. Never had I expected Sam of all people to be saying these things. He was a warrior, a soldier, through and through. He was happy with all the decisions that lead him here... or so I'd thought.

Yet, his words made a lot of sense to me. I had been too far into my self pity to see the bigger picture. If I was not General, if I was merely a queen to a King... I could be anything- do anything I wanted. No Clark breathing down my neck. No schedules or responsibilities.

Free...

I took a step forward, towards the stairs, but shot a look over my shoulder, "If you ever need that door, Sam." He seemed to be holding his breath. "Let me know."

A dazzling male smile was all the answer I needed.

"Alright, wrap it up!" I hollered.

And in a whoosh, all the recruits were at the bottom of the steps, some collapsing completely to the ground dramatically, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath.

"I can't tell you what your next task is," All of their heads popped up at once, nostrils flaring slightly. "but I can tell you, that if you wish to succeed, you'll need to be able to run much longer than that." I took in their clothes- or lack there of. "Wearing a lot more."

They all glanced at each other, the looks looking like they would rather die than take another step. Hisagi stood in the back of the group, looking at Juanca, who stared back. Hisagi had been distant ever since I had left him here to go to the Merchant District. When I had told him never to question me. I tried not to take his distance personally, and instead tried to see it as a small gift. With all going on around me lately, it was best if he stayed away. But I was glad to see he had finally found a friend within his squad.

A black figure emerged at the top of the banister. Ichigo, leaned with his elbows braced on the metal, his chin cupped in his large palm. His face was blank, no trace of why he was out in the open. I snapped my eyes back down, before anyone else could notice the small feeling of panic that rose in me. "That's it for today, and why don't you guys take tomorrow off." I threw a smirk over my shoulder at Sam who had come up behind me. "And you can thank Sam for that small freedom."

He was shaking his head, but I knew he appreciated the gesture.

"Man, you're just a magnet for attractive guys, aren't you?" Ichigo groaned when I met him at the landing. "How do I compete with body builder soldiers?"

I ignored his teasing. "You shouldn't be here. The more people know about why you're here the more danger your friends are in." How could he not understand that?

"I got bored standing all by myself while you're down there making friends." He finished with a nod over my head. I glanced back and saw Sam, still utterly shirtless, making his way up to us. I whirled back to Ichigo. "He's a loyalist." That was all I had time to say before-

"Sam Cortman." Sam held out a hand that Ichigo shook firmly.

"Ichigo Kurosaki, nice to meet you. Orihime's always talking about you."

Two pairs of eyes looked at me, and I rubbed the back of my neck, letting the words ramble out of my mouth, in hopes a viable excuse fell out. "Yeah, Ichigo is interested in becoming a Royal Guard, even though I keep telling him he missed the recruitment age by a long shot but I told him you were the man to see."

Ichigo's eyes sparkled. And Sam just seemed taken off guard as he nodded. "Oh, well we don't even begin looking for anyone for another six months. How old are you, Ichigo?"

"Twenty-two."

"Two years over recruiting age..." Sam looked at me and then bumped me with his naked shoulder. "But since Hime referred you, I think I can make a small exception. You have any fighting experience?"

I was glaring at Ichigo, pouring every bit of anger I had at the world into it and he wasn't even bothered as he said, "You can say that."

Sam laughed, "Right. Well, why don't you come train with us for a while? Then I can see what you've got. We meet at 10am and 2pm, everyday. Except tomorrow, since Inoue suddenly sprouted a heart."

Ichigo was already agreeing before I could think of a valid reason why that was a very, very terrible idea.

A within the course of a two minute conversation, Ichigo and Sam were the best of friends.

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **Oh Ichigo you sly motherfluffer. Just keep worming your way in! I believe in you!**_

 ** _I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I loved writing it!_**

 ** _Please review if you have any thoughts!_**

 ** _Till next time!-_**


	12. Chapter Twelve

**_Fancy seeing you here *awkward cyber wink*_**

 ** _Yet another, fairly quick, update for you guys! Hopefully, the next chapter will flow out quickly too!_**

 ** _And guess what, it is official! I got my first negative review, and let me tell you I felt super empowered by it. I mean passion is passion right?_**

 ** _So thank you guest reviewer for your candor, guess it's true; you really can't please everyone._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters._**

 ** _Let's hop in!-_**

* * *

"Sam seems like a really cool guy." Ichigo babbled out, for the tenth time. "I mean some guys his size have this aura about them, you know? Like a 'I am the strongest man ever' swagger, but he doesn't. _Super cool_."

 _Deep calming breaths, Orihime._

"I understand now, why you like him."

Head snapping sideways, I gawked at him. "I don't _like_ him."

Ichigo's hands flew up in defense, as if he were worried I'd pounce at any given moment. "I didn't mean like that... but now I'm definitely wondering." His eyes were wide and there was just a ghost of a smile on his lips.

I just kept walking with a vigorous shake of my head, but then there he was strolling beside me that same damn smile on his face. "I mean, I'd get it. A guy like Sam? Hell, I liked him for a second." I glared straight ahead. "Okay, maybe it was two."

"Sam is like a brother to me, I've known him ever since- I've just known him for a long time."

Ichigo was nodding, letting it drop. "So, what's next on the agenda?"

As if called from whatever corner of the world all of my annoyances hid until the worst moment, Ryley appeared at the end of the hall. He was talking with a small balding man, not yet noticing me. Or Ichigo.

I could not survive another 'men in my life' introduction.

I was not proud of the amount of force I used to shove Ichigo into the closest open door, slamming it in his face when he shouted a protest. The door barely having time to close completely when Ryley looked up, a giant grin appearing on his handsome face. I leaned back against the wooden frame as he approached.

"I was just coming to find you! Am I late?" He looked to the man on his right with expectation, as if the man could explain how the very theory of time worked.

"No, we let out early." I said, saving the little man who seemed ready to faint from my attention. There was a soft thud within the room behind me, and before Ryley could even wonder what could have caused it, I rushed out. "Are you hungry? I really worked up an appetite today."

Ryley looked slightly taken back. And I realized this was the first time I had gone out of my way to ask him a direct question... and now I was wondering, with me standing alone in the hallway, leaning casually against a door, if it looked like I had been waiting for him.

Judging by the way his eyes lit up, I was going to say he had been wondering about that too.

"I'm starved. Let's go to the dining hall." He held out a hand hesitantly. Obviously, thinking I'd wanted to eat with him had given him a little bit of self confidence. Cursing Ichigo softly, I took Ryley's clammy hand, and let him lead me through the court. Our hands never breaking contact.

"So, I was thinking." Ryley began as we neared the hall. "What do you think of me taking a few training lessons with you? The last time we trained together we were just kids, I thought it would be fun to see how much we each have changed."

Remembering how he was all those years ago, and looking at him now- seeing his limbs move awkwardly just by walking- I couldn't imagine he had changed much. But still, I nodded, trying my best to appease him. I was suppose to be his entertainment, after all.

"I mean, I realize that I'm not at all ready to take on someone like you but I think I can really..." His words trailed off as we entered the hall, finding the room already occupied. "Father..?" Ryley asked, a great big grin forming on his mouth.

He rushed to the table where the two leaders sat, not at all noticing the strangled tension that was engulfing the room. I proceeded hesitantly towards the table, while Ryley merely plopped himself down across from his father.

Clark caught my eye. A calculated move. Making sure Lucas was distracted by the rambling questions from his son.

My king did not have to say a word, or even alter the blank expression on his face for me to understand. I could smell the stench and Lucas had yet to say anything. "Ryley," I cut in. "why don't we find another place to have our date? And let our fathers continue their conversation privately."

I had crafted the sentence to catch his attention. Perfecting my tone to be slightly nervous yet assertive. A suggestion and an order. I knew I had done well when Ryley looked up, his father otherwise forgotten, and I tried my best to look carefree, to appear as young as I should have been.

To trick a person, first you must understand how they see you. If you play into the roll they already have crafted of you, it is far easier to convert those thoughts of you into fact. I'd only had a week to read Ryley's reactions to me, his words and facial expressions. Normally I would take my time, to more expertly craft my persona, but I just simply did not have the time.

On day one he had seen me as I truly am. Hard, calculating and perhaps a bit cruel. He had seen me as General and Heir. I had not been prepared for him then, I had not had time to craft a specific mask for him to see. I had been trying to remedy that ever since.

Only two days ago did I feel I had been beginning to succeed. Now, Ryley youngest heir to the North, saw me as a fragile girl hidden beneath a shield of glass. He believed that with the proper force, my glass barrier would shatter for him. And it would, I would just have to wait for the correct time for it to do so.

Now, when the broken glass cleared, he would see a mask he will believe to be my true face. And I will wear that mask for the rest of my life.

I allowed just one crack to form, a splinter in my false shield, and I allowed him to see it. If I had aligned the pieces to fall correctly, Ryley will rise for the table in three, two...

"Yes, of course." My betrothed said, shooting up. He placed a hand on his fathers shoulder. "But please, come see me when your meeting is finished. I wish to hear all news from home."

Ryley would need more training. He should have already pieced it together by now. If he had been paying any sort of attention- if his true father had given him the tools he most desperately needed. He would have known that it takes two weeks to arrive in the Northern Capitol. And two more to return.

And his father had left only six days ago.

Something was brewing. I could feel it coursing over my skin, like lightning. Messy and wild and untamable. My father did not look at me again, otherwise I could have tried to form the question in my eyes. Lucas was slumped, he did not look at his son.

I didn't have the luxury of brainstorming the reasoning. Not as Ryley made his way over to me, his face light up in a smile. "Shall we?" I took his offered arm, and had to use all of my will power not to look over my shoulder as we exited.

* * *

 _Darkness. Darker than pitch black. Thicker than death._

 _And the girl wanted death. Craved it. She knew, even through the thumping in her head and the blood loss nausia, she knew no part of her would survive this. Her body, maybe. But her soul, every thing that made her who she was, every human like feature she'd always taken for granted, they would be gone. Lost in the black pit of this place._

 _Because she could feel it. Feel the fangs breaking through her gums, the sharp claws growing in the place of her old fingernails._

 _The girl would leave this place. But it would merely be a monster nestled into her skin, wearing her body like an empty shell._

* * *

Tossing and turning that night my body felt like it was one hundred degrees. My hair stuck to my forehead and to the nape of my neck, and no matter how many layers I took off, it did nothing to cool my heated body.

I was in between dreams when I heard the softest of knocks on my bedroom door. I shot up, my hair flying over my shoulder in knotted clumps. I stared across the room, thinking perhaps in my sweaty sleep deprived state I had imagined it.

But it sounded again, slightly louder this time. And I cursed as I dragged myself out of bed. And swore to every God I knew, that if I opened that door to find Ichigo with a smirk on his face and a blanket in his hand like last week I would kill him very, very slowly.

Right before the knob was in my hand, I suddenly realized that it could be Ryley waiting outside. Coming to my bedroom late in the night...

I looked down to my attire, and wondered if I should get more decent. For if I opened the door for Ryley standing in nothing but my undergarments I can only imagine the implications that would come with it.

Then, I remembered that he was the uninvited guest, appearing at my door late in the night, and I had nothing to apologize for. So I gripped the knob and threw back the door, only to find Hisagi standing there, knuckles raised in a near knock.

He took me in, and then raised his eyes quickly to the ceiling. "Hisagi, what are you doing here?"

"Uh." He began. "I was thinking - You know, I'm sorry, I just realized how inappropriate this is. To show up here- now. In the middle of-"

"Get on with it, Hisagi."

"Okay. Right." Hands placed on hips, deep inhale through the nose and then he met my eyes quickly. "Train me." Quick confusion flashed over my face, a true emotion. And I began to shake my head in that same confusion. "I need you to train me. Not Sam, not within a group, just you and me. One on one. I know that if I just have that extra attention I can really improve."

I can say with a rare honesty, that was not what I'd expected. I could see the look of hope in his face and it was hard to force out the words that would crush that hope. "I can't do that, it would show a high amount of favoritism over the others. And that is not honorable."

Hisagi opened his mouth and then closed it, his hands both gripping the baggy end of his tunic, wringing the fabric. "Look, I know you think I can't do this, that I'm going to fail." I crossed my arms across my chest, as he continued. "You saved my life, Orihime. You didn't even know me, and you certainly had no reason to put your neck on the line for me, but you did... And now, I can see your disappointment in me grow day by day and I don't think I can see that look again."

Suddenly, I was no longer at the courts. I was in the rebel warehouse, and Bronze was standing before me instead of Hisagi. Such similar words, such admiration hidden within them. If only I actually deserved it.

Hisagi believed that I saved his life, but had I? Or had I just prolonged it, in the worst, most traumatic way? Every terrible thing he had endured this past year was because of me. Every fallen comrade, every scar and bruise- they were on me. And now, if he fails his next task, his death will only be a beginning of an eternity with Morta.

I should have let him die all that time ago.

But I hadn't and now... now he was my responsibility. "Fine." Hisagi beamed. "But you will need to keep it from the others." I added quickly.

"Yes! I can do that! When do we start? Should we do it late or early? Would the Center work or is that too public?" His voice gained more and more optimism.

I patted him on the head, and he quieted down instantly. "Tomorrow night. In the Center; it's closed to all but my officers after dusk so we will have privacy. Now, go."

With a slight blush in his cheeks, Hisagi nodded before running down the hall, his feet sloppy and loud. Something we would have to remedy immediately.

I was barely four steps from the door when another knock sounded. I flung it open, ready to chastise Hisagi more harshly, but it was not him standing in the doorway.

Ichigo yawned long and hard before slightly pushing me out of his way and made his way into the room. "I wish I'd known you were so open to night visitors, I've always been more of a night owl myself. So, it'll be nice to have someone else up with me." He stretched, stepping over the discarded bedding, before falling face first onto the smooth sheets.

Figuring that protesting would get me no where, I picked up my long baggy sweater off the floor and quickly pulled it over my head, though I suppose it made no difference to him. I made myself comfortable in my reading chair, cuddling up against the back cushion, eyes heavy.

"How many battles have you fought in?" Ichigo asked, his words muffled against the sheets.

My eyes creaked open, but he remained face down, his feet dangling off of the end of the large mattress. "That number depends on circumstances."

"Okay, so before you became General, then."

I made a mental tally, "I wasn't prepared for a battle field until I was nearly sixteen, and I did not rise to my position until I was eighteen so I'd say I fought in six or seven before I was General, roughly, of course."

"And all of those scars, they are from your time in battle?"

I was quiet for a minute and he looked over his shoulder at me as I rose, striding to the balcony doors; Throwing open the dark curtains, letting the moonlight stream in. "Most are from my training." My voice was soft as I stared out into the dark city below.

 _Push out the thoughts,_ I reminded myself. _Memories are nothing but fragments._

"Man, you Goldies sure take training military recruits very seriously." His voice was clearer, and steady in its obvious disapproval.

"It was not military training," I clarified. "The path to becoming Heir is not an easy one."

"Huh." Ichigo huffed and then was silent. Neither of us said a word, I just stayed out on my balcony, and he continued to lay comfortably.

But soon, I made my way back inside. Lighting every candle- even bringing out those from the bathroom and finding them a new home throughout the room; the room that suddenly seemed far too dark. I picked a happy book off the bookcase, and sat down to read. Ichigo soon found his way over as well, still not saying anything. He himself picked a novel, and lounged in the chair across from mine and opened carefully to page one.

And if anyone had come looking for me, that is where they would have found me. Sitting in a nice alluring silence, with a book in my lap. Reading with Ichigo until the sun rose and chased the darkness away.

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 _ **Let me know what you guys think!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_**Hello everyone, and thanks for reading my new chapter!**_

 _ **I might have gotten a little carried away this chapter and wrote 1K more than I normally do. Hope you enjoy it!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters!**_

 _ **Let's just in!-**_

* * *

There is a course of things. A natural order. To run you must first walk. To become an expert in something you must first study.

But there is no natural order to being alive. All we know is that you are born, you live and then inevitably die.

Yet what happens in between birth and death? There are the moments that shape you, mold you into the person you are. But your entire life can not be filled with those moments. They have to be earned through the mundane things.

The rain must wait for the storm clouds to come before it can fall.

That was the only thing that kept me awake in the course of meeting after meeting. Man after man entering and leaving having said so much, yet changing absolutely nothing.

They spoke of taxes and immigrants, of laws and orders. I should have been listening, but the longer the day inched by the more unbothered I became. It is hard to care about something when you know that in the course of a few months it will all become irrelevant to your life.

For they had set a day.

A day to where my entire life crumbled; when it would cease to exist.

The men continued discussing around me, not at all noticing the silence from my side of the table. They did not notice the walls begin to close, shrinking in on us from every angle.

Was it all in my head? Was I not screaming?

No. Perhaps I wasn't.

* * *

"We must raise the wall, forty-five inches." A man told us from his position in the large open pit before us. His chin was large, his eyes a muddy brown- and they were set in a permanent glare. As if the man did not know what it was to smile.

"And where do you plan on getting the money to do so, Mister Lance?" Spoke a voice to my left. "Wish to ask the king for an allowance?" Councilman Mavell finished, gesturing in my direction.

"We raise taxes in the Rim." Lance informed us, his hands coming to rest on his bulging hips.

I sat up straighter, placing my own hands flat on the table, "Tax the Rim? Have you ever even been to the Lower Rim, Mister Lance?"

Every pair of eyes, that had been balanced on me, now snapped to Lance. Who looked up at me, yet he still, somehow, had a way of looking down his nose. "No, I have not. But I have read the reports and I think we can stretch out the rations and save money there, as well. I can assure you, it can be done."

"Stretch the rations?" I echoed, glancing at his belly flapped over his belt. "Yes, I think you are on to something, Lance." I rose from my seat, clasping my hands behind my back. "But where to stretch these rations? Certainly not in the Rim; for they're already very skinny yet in the merchant district," I glanced again at his stomach. "the rations seem to be coming in high quantities. May I ask, why is it you want to raise the wall?" He looked at me as if I had sprouted two heads or perhaps that I had no head at all.

"My shop," he began, "has been severely impacted by the amount of non-Golden city residents making homes within the city. More shops sprout from the ashes of all my fellow struggling Merchants. Shops run by Bellatonians, Northerners and even people from the South. Are you telling me that I am wrong in believing that we should come first in your eyes and in the eyes of the king?"

I processed his words. Disagreeing about as quickly as he spoke them but I also did not fully understand how he could draw such a conclusion, which caused me to pause. Pausing for too long if the look in his eye had anything to say about it, "I guess I should've expected as much from a Bellatonian bastard." My entire body locked in place. "I had requested to meet with just the council- excluding you- but it seems I have drawn the short straw. So, must I repeat myself?" Lance turned his eyes from me, a clear dismissal. "We need to raise the wall to keep immigrants out and to protect ourselves from wasting away as the days go by."

Taking a deep intake through the nose and letting it out through my mouth slowly, as to not lose my temper as I opened my mouth to say, "I do not wish to hear another word about it until you have the proper plans or even a more logical idea to gain funds and I also would like to remind you that this ' _Bellatonian bastard_ ' could very well take your head from your shoulders without so much as a second thought. So, Mister Lance, I suggest you take my words very seriously; for it is not often that someone insults me in such a way, and still leaves with their tongue intact."

My voice, and the looming threat, turned the room icy. And Lance felt no need to bless me with even another moment of his time, and left with hardly a clang of his shiny jewelry.

* * *

"You love your books, don't you?" Ichigos voice broke through my concentration later that night, when I sat alone, at last, in my bed chamber.

I looked up to see him leaning against the door frame, his trademark smirk plastered on his lips. "Let me guess torture guides, right? No? Must be romantic novels then."

Knowing he would get the most satisfaction from my denials, I decided to say nothing. Instead, I focused my eyes back to my book, ignoring him completely.

Oh, come on, Princess." He whined, stepping into the room. "You were in meetings all day and I've been bored." He plopped down onto the couch beside me and peered into my lap, "' _Ichigo looks incredibly handsome today_ ,'" He fake read. "' _and I think I fell even more in love with him_.' Oh, so your diary, then." He finished with a wicked smile.

I snapped the book closed and sneered, "Can't you monitor my activities from somewhere else? Preferably somewhere farther away."

"Well, I could." Ichigo smiled and reached forward to tuck some hair behind my ear. I resisted the urge to break his fingers. "But like I said before, I've been really bored today thanks to you. When I took the position I thought you'd be doing far more interesting things but so far all I do is watch you sit in meetings and then run errands around the court and then come back here to sit and read your smutty romance novels. I thought Princesses got to have more fun than that."

I swatted his hand away when it lingered on my cheek. "You're more than welcome to go have all sorts of fun and leave me to my business. I never asked for you to follow me everywhere. And I am _not_ a princess so stop calling me that."

"Your father is the king that makes you a princess, Princess." He smirked, his eyes gleaming.

I glared at him as I forfeited my seat, tossing my discarded book onto the table.

"I am the general to his armies and Heir to his throne, his blood may flow in my veins but I am about as much his daughter as I am yours." I stated, as I surveyed my shelves, looking for a book that would be enticing enough to drown out his voice.

But it seemed, for once, he had nothing to say. I enjoyed the silence as I walked about the room, taking more time than necessary to choose.

A peek over my shoulder told me why he was suddenly so quiet. He had started flipping through the book I had been reading when he arrived. No wonder he was so interested, I realized, it was a book written by an author from Bellator.

The story was about a young girl born into poverty, how her mother would sell her to men on the street so that they could afford to eat. The girl didn't know how terrible a thing it was because she had never known otherwise. But as she grew she befriended another girl who was also sold by her own mother, except this girl was sold, not because her family was poor, but because her mother was envious of her beauty and innocence and wanted to destroy it. Soon the girls friendship blossomed into love.

The two girls, having finally know what it is to love something, decided to go tell their mothers that they would not be whored out any longer and that, in fact, they were leaving their homes behind to find a life together. They decided to do this separately and then meet at the edge of their village.

And so, the poor girl went to her mother and told her of her decision and her mother- who loved her very much- wished her luck and sent her out into the world.

She arrived at the edge of town and waited and waited and waited for her lover to come for her.

But she never did.

Finally, after the night had come and gone, she walked through her small little village- her eyes filled with so many tears she was practically blind- and when she got to her lovers door it began to rain. Then, when the mother answered, covered in scratches and blood, the girl knew what had happened.

For it was not rain but the blood dripping from her lovers decapitated head, nailed to the door frame, that was soaking into her hair and her skin.

The story ends with the young girl brutally killing the mother, and then cradling her lovers head, not moving an inch, until she slowly starved to death.

"Not a sex novel but I hope you're not too disappointed with it." I mumble, turning my back on him.

"You say that as if I haven't already read it."

I looked at him slowly, not fully believing him.

"You forget but I grew up in Bellator, books are as common as air there. This story was actually one of my favorites. Growing up in poverty like I did, I saw the girls I had grown up with suddenly become women. I saw them turn from innocent little beings into sour, hateful people and back then I didn't know that, as a woman, sometimes your choices are taken from you. I was lucky enough to be born a boy, where I was taught to work with my hands, taught to hunt and to fight. I never had to fear people choosing such things for me."

Ichigo placed the book back on the table and met my eyes from across the room. His face more stern and serious than I had ever seen it. "This story helped me put things in perspective. That if I had to hunt then I would hunt for the weak and the starving. That if I was forced to fight then I would fight for the people that can't fight for themselves."

He waited for me to speak but I nothing left to say. He had spent his life fighting for _something_ , while I had spent my entire life killing people just like him, who just wanted their people's voices heard.

"And I think it's the same for you, Princess. But I think the problem is, you look at this story as a tragedy, as the good having lost."

"But it did lose, the girls both die."

"Yes, but they died standing up for what they believed was right. They saw a better life and decided to fight for it."

The air in the room seem to crackle like fire, the deafening silence felt like red hot coals being shoved down my throat.

"I didn't know you could read let alone comprehend." I joked, breaking the silence. Hoping for him to turn back into his carefree self.

It felt odd to speak about something like this with him. For him to understand something I held so close to my heart.

But he simply stared at me. His eyes piercing my very soul. I waited for him to recoil at what he saw there but he just continue to look, without a hint of disdain. And so, I stood before him, feeling completely naked.

And then, in the blink of an eye, his whole demeanor changed, the smirk returned to his face and relaxed his body- sprawling himself over my couch- just as Ryley walked in.

Ryley crossed the room, saying words I didn't hear, about something I didn't care about, I could only gap at Ichigo, who had stripped me bare and glanced away without the slightest care.

My fiancee kept speaking, clearly not noticing my indifference. Until, finally, he rested his hands on my shoulders and shook me a bit. I looked up into his odd eyes, so close to mine that I leaned back slightly to gain a more comfortable distance. "Earth to Orihime. You in there?"

It had never been so hard to hide my irritation. I had been biting my tongue for twenty years and in that moment I was about to let out all of that compressed anger. Ichigo must have seen that, hidden somewhere in the lines of my face, because he rose elegantly from his slouched position and with a cat like grace, extended his hand to Ryley. "I don't think we have ever been introduced, my name is Ichigo Kurosaki. I'm one, of many, of Orihimes recruits."

Ryley took his hand while I focused on my breathing. "Pleasure to meet you, I am Ryley Vilantrio, youngest heir to the North." Ryley looked over his shoulder at me and then to Ichigo once more, "I'm sorry, had I interrupted something?"

"No, not at all." Ichigo assured him, "Orihime was just letting me borrow some of her books. It can get somewhat boring in the barracks, you see."

"Ah." Ryley laughed lowly. "I can imagine it gets quite difficult being so cut off from the rest of the world, especially for so long."

"Yes, yet when Orihime is teaching, sometimes I forget there's even a world to miss."

Clearly not knowing what more he could add to the conversation, Ryley looked back at me.A call for help.

"Well, I should be getting back." Ichigo sighed, picking up the random pile of books on the golden side table, his arms flexing in the candlelight. "Nice to finally meet you, Ryley. Orihime." He threw a nod in my direction. The door thudded closed behind him, leaving silence in its wake.

Taking in his surroundings Ryley said, "You seem to have a lot of males in your life."

"Not by choice, believe me."

He gave me a tight lipped smile, and I mentally slapped myself.

Somehow, I had formed the skill of putting my foot directly inside my mouth. And always when Ryley and his feelings are concerned. I was beginning to believe it was because of his small presence, but, no doubt, that was only to make myself feel better.

"Was there a reason you came by?" I deflected, quickly.

He gave me a small grin, in appreciation. "Oh yes. I was going through my stuff and I found this," He pulled a folded piece of discolored paper from his pocket and began to unfold it, stepping closer. "I forgot I even brought it. It's kind of hard to read but I think it's kind of a cool memento."

I looked closer, seeing the swirl and ink splotches of words written very faintly.

I read:

 _Sorry about your finger, I didn't mean to break it_

 _It doesn't hurt much, so don't worry_

It was written in a childlike rush, where the words were nearly on top of each other. I ran my finger tips over the parchment, in an almost awed fashion and I could feel Ryley beaming beside me as he read over my shoulder.

"That finger is still crooked, you know." He teased.

"I told you to keep it wrapped, but you wouldn't listen." I threw back.

I handed the note back to him, and he refolded it very carefully, before replacing it back into his pocket securely. "I thought it made me look tough..." Ryley admitted, with a slight embarrassment in his tone that had me chuckling.

We met eyes and a tension filled the room. Never before had I seen that look in his black eyes; I'd been having new experiences a lot recently, and I didn't quite like it. So, to maintain my dignity I turned my gaze away. When I had become such a coward, I also had no clue.

"I really must leave now," I informed him. "I have made a promise to a friend. I will see you tomorrow."

I went to leave, not even bothering to retrieve _Vladimir_ , but Ryley quickly gripped my wrist, bringing my escape to a screeching halt. "It seems you are always running from me." That look in his eye had turned to hurt. "I know you didn't choose this- me. But we got along well enough when we were children- broken fingers aside. I thought... well I thought we could just form a friendship again, before the winter comes."

Ah yes, winter. When I would cease to be Orihime Inoue, General of the Western Army, Heir to the Golden Throne, the Enforcer of Law- and abruptly become something new and foreign.

I would be Orihime Vilantrio, Wife to Ryley Vilantrio youngest heir to the North.

Each and every title I had earned through death and blood, stripped away with two little words.

It had evaporated when I'd seen my younger selves handwriting but now two decades worth of anger bubbled inside me, stronger than ever.

I rested my hand over Ryleys, where it still gripped my wrist, and I poured every last bit of that anger into my glare, into my skin. I became that fire, and it became me."We are not friends, Ryley. Perhaps, once but not anymore. I have changed too much." I ripped his hand way, crushing his delicate fingers in my clutches. Damning the mask completely. "And those changes have made me despise the touch of a man's flesh. You'd be wise to remember that, my dear husband."

I released him, and took only one step back, to I let him see it. All of it; all of me. I let the glass barrier shatter, and Ryley turned pale as death. For where he had expected to see a princess, shaking and begging for his help, stood a bloody, battle scarred dragon.

Ready to devour him whole.

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 ** _HOLY METAPHORICAL FIRE BREATHING DRAGON BATMAN!_**

 ** _Orihime seems to be throwing her tricks away... for now._**

 ** _Please leave a review if you have any thoughts!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**_Man I wish this chapter would never end, I loved writing it that much. Yet funny enough this is the shortest chapter I've written._**

 ** _I felt it should end where it ended, so it can't be helped._**

 ** _Thank you to the reviewers! I'm super happy you enjoyed last chapter!_**

 ** _WARNING: This chapter has more of the dark themes in it and you should not read it if that will be a problem!_**

 ** _Disclaimer : I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

* * *

 _How long had she been here? How many days had passed?_

 _Did the sun still rise and set? Did it even still exist?_

 _It seemed that the monsters never left. They did not need rest or nourishment. All their bodies needed was to make hers bleed- to push her so far into the pain that her screams were nothing but silent yawns._

 _"You are Orihime Inoue," They chanted over her cries. "Heir to the Golden Throne. And you feel nothing."_

 _Yet, fear was all the girl felt. She feared their hands, feared their breath, feared the very thumping of her own heart. For if it could still beat then that meant she was still there. In the dark, tied and naked. Exposed like a nerve._

 _Her entire body was made of that fear. But the girl repeated their words. Repeated them in a foolish hope that it would make them stop. Just for a moment she wanted them to stop. Just one._

 _"I am Orihime Inoue. Heir to the Golden Throne and I feel nothing."_

 _She screamed nothing but those words for hours as they took even more of her away. As they took everything away. But those words remained. And soon, they were the only thing that made any sense to her._

* * *

If I can count on anything being simple in my life, it is steel and iron. Fists and legs. All striking for vulnerable flesh.

It is easier to take a life than to live one. At least in my own experience.

Hisagi, however, seemed to have a difficult time with even the most basic of combat. He was slowly growing, now even a few inches taller than me, and with all the excess running and training his body was wide and large. He looked like a true soldier, yet put a sword in his hand and the kid froze.

Soon, it became obvious to me that he would need a less direct method. And that's how we got to sitting on the rough floor of the sparring ring, criss-cross, face to face, knees nearly touching.

"Believe it or not, but fighting didn't come easy to me." I began, after a few minutes of him avoiding my gaze. He looked up under his lashes. "I'd worked day and night, since I was six years old to become even an inch of who I now am. Fighting and bleeding and wishing for nothing more than peace. But, peace was never in my destiny, and it is not meant for you either, Hisagi. I stole that life from you."

"You saved me." He protested softly. I remembered back to that day, to my reasoning for stepping up. I remembered how skinny he was, how ill fitting his clothing was. He was weak and feeble, seeming to never before even have moved his long awkward body. Despite, the clear signs that he was not a strong person, the look in his eyes said otherwise. I had known that he had something inside of him that made him nearly unhinged. Looking into his eyes, I saw myself. I saved him then, because no one had saved me. I saved him out of selfishness, and he had spend a year praising me for it.

"Tell me, what was your life before the apples?" _Before me_.

He grew still, his fingers unclenching to fidget with the dirt on his pants. "But you already-"

I cut him off, huffing. "You think I never knew you lied about your past?" His eyes widened. "I'm Heir to the most corrupt city on the planet, lies are like daily vitamins to me. I can respect your dedication to your lie, but it is time to tell me the truth."

"Is that an order?" It was spoken in the smallest voice I'd ever heard. I nodded but he never looked up, and so I said with authority, "Yes."

Hisagi thought long and hard about it, and I focused on the rise and fall of his chest, all my attention drawn to the slight twitch in his lower lip. Would my breath catch, would my lips tremble, if i had not been taught to hide such weakness?

"I was born in Bellator, to a young woman who felt, I suppose, that she was too young to raise a child. I was thrown out, and taken in by a tavern owner. She was... crude and loud but she kept me fed, kept me warm. Until one of her nightly companions put a dagger through her skull. I was on my own after that. I was six years old." The same age I was when I was thrown into combat by my father.

"Bellator is a wonderful place, full of great, trustworthy people, but even their generosity wears thin. When I was close to my eighth birthday a merchant who was traveling west, offered me a ride." Hisagi paused, and his hands began to shake. "The man, he wasn't Bellatonian... and that alone should have made me decline but I accepted. And because of that my fate was altered completely. The man, I stayed with him when we got here, and soon I learned he had an... _inkling_ for children. For me..."

"Hisagi,"

"I spent a years in hell. And even if I ran, I had no where to go. I was in a strange place, and I had no clue how things worked here. He told me that if I told a soul, I would find myself lost deeper within that hell. So I grew, older and older I became, until one day I was too old; at least by his disgusting standards. Fourteen years old, dropped at the foot of The Golden Throne accused of theft by a wealthy merchant. My hell, coming to an abrupt end."

Surprised, angry, and disgusted. I was feeling a lot of things as Hisagi fed me his history. But above all else was my intense feeling of failure. That man, he'd been standing right in front of me and I had failed to see it.

"Then there you were, a shining light through the darkness. You spoke, and the world listened. Even when he protested, you just spoke louder and your words rang law. You _did_ save me that day, Orihime. Not only from death, but from him. From the crushing weight of wanting to die. You are the best warrior this world has ever seen, and yet somehow I fail to learn from you... I fail to prove myself worthy of being saved."

I pushed past my disagreement, only enough to say, "You are not a failure, Hisagi. I had many teachers, and my brother, to help guide me. To fuel that burning inside of me. I was not born this way, I was forged like steel; shaped into a warrior. I think I was wrong in assuming all can be taught that way."

I stood up, and he followed, nearly falling in his attempt to rise quickly. Hisagi looked at me with confusion but I just looked about the room, searching.

A dark figure emerged from the darkness behind us, walking towards us until he appeared in the light. Ichigo's face, usually so filled with humor, was bleak in its sorrow.

Hisagi threw his arm out in front of me.

And in doing so proved what I'd predicted. Hisagi is not a soldier or a fighter. He is something far more rare. Learning his story, I had started to piece together a new training path for him. He sees me, not as the warrior I am, but instead as his protector, his savior.

"Who are you?" He demanded of Ichigo.

Ichigo did not answer, didn't even look at him. He kept his attention focused on my face, as I fed him every detail of my plan through my eyes. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would understand. And so, I moved Hisagi's hand away, lowering his arm as I moved towards Ichigo. "He is going to help you, Hisagi. He is going to be the key to your training." I drew _Vladimir_ , and let it drop two steps away from Oliver's feet.

Ichigo gave me a look that told me he wasn't happy with his new found role and as I neared him even more, that look only intensified. I would not let his code of ethics get in the way of Hisagi's future. I nodded, one swift movement, that gave every sign of consent. And when I was standing before him, I stopped, stayed completely still, and watched as Ichigo fisted his fingers and brought them up, with all of his strength, into my undefended gut.

Oxygen was taken from me as I collapsed. I wheezed for breath, coughing up burning air. Hisagi cried out, and seemed almost frozen in his shock. He extended one hand out, looking to me with indescribable fear.

"Help me, Hisagi." I managed to say, as Ichigo lifted me up by a sharp tug of my arm, only to connect a powerful blow to my jaw; knocking me back down. My head spun, and I looked over my shoulder at him, glaring my displeasure. I could take whatever he gave, and I resented the fact that he was holding himself back.

Clenching his teeth, Ichigo sent a kick up into my ribs.

 _Better_.

Hisagi still stood there, not believing what he was seeing. "Save me, Hisagi!' I cried, forcing myself to have the tone of a victim.

No, Hisagi was no fighter. He was not someone who could channel his hate into punches and swings.

He was a protector. With no sense of self preservation, no sense of self pity. He would die before hurting a living breathing soul, but for me? For his savior, his liberator? For Orihime Inoue, who plucked him from the darkness and showed him kindness in a world that had given him nothing but pain and loss?

I was putting all of myself on the line for the idea that for me, Hisagi would do just about anything.

So, I would take the beating, and Ichigo would give it- to help me save Hisagi one more time. Hisagi, who stared on in horror as Ichigo hit me again and again, my blood splattered across the concrete. Hisagi, who seemed shocked that his hero was being beaten, that she was on the ground begging for his help, confused that she could be bested, at all.

He had a battle waging inside of himself. One I'd had many years ago, thrashing in the sand, with my brother crushing my throat in his hands.

Fight or die.

Kill or be killed.

I knew what I had chosen, but I also knew this life was not one everyone could live. Some would pick the lesser of two evils, despite their best interests. If it had been himself being beaten on the ground, broken and bleeding, he would choose to die, and that was something I couldn't except. And so I was selfishly changing his battle.

Fight for me, or let me die.

Let Ichigo kill me, or kill to save me.

My vision was beginning to blur, every breath from my lungs was a battle in and of its self. And at least three of my ribs were broken. Yet, I let Ichigo continue, I made eye contact with him, to find tears swelling in his own. But I begged him, silently. To continue, to not give up. I was relying so much on his ability to push past his own need. And he did, because Ichigo was so much like me. He knew the ends justified the means. If the goal was pure enough.

And Hisagi? His battle ended.

And he picked up the sword.

 _ **.**_

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 _ **Man this broke my heart!**_

 ** _Ichigo would do anything to help our Hime, and Orihime would do anything to save her friend._**

 ** _Don't worry, Orihime can take anything!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

_**Well, here we are again! So glad about the positive feedback from last chapter, because I was a little nervous about it.**_

 _ **And I want to give a special shout out to Guest reviewer Suransuran: That was such a beautifully written review and I loved every word of it! Thank you so much for enjoying my writing! I hope I continue to impress you!**_

 ** _Disclaimer : I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Let's jump in!-_**

* * *

I shot up from the bloody ground, quickly gripping Hisagi's wrist before he could swing the sword down upon Ichigo's head. Ichigo, who just stood there, not lifting a single finger in his defense.

"Good, Hisagi. Good." His breathing was heavy and his eyes were filled with anguish as he stared at me, his arm still raised to swing. I tried my best to smile past the ache in my jaw. And I struggled to hide the immense effort it took just to raise my arm high.

"Orihime?" Hisagi's voice broke as two tears dropped onto his cheek. He stared at me as if he'd never seen another human being, then his eyes shifted, to stare over my head. And a broken piece of his humanity flashed in those tear filled eyes, and while lost in the hollowness he no doubt felt, Hisagi shoved me aside and screamed as he charged once more at Ichigo.

In my injured state, I crumbled to the ground, having no strength left in my bruised bones, yelling, commanding him to stop. Looking over my shoulder, I was forced to watch- helpless- as Hisagi gripped _Vladimir_ with both hands and lifted the long blade over his head. Ichigo looked up and his mouth moved, and whatever it was he said, it halted Hisagi in his tracks.

Standing before the towering, bulking silhouette of Ichigo, Hisagi looked so small. Innocent in a way that I never wanted him to lose, yet I myself had stolen some of that youth, stripped it away with my blood and cries. Though, remembering back to the loss of my own innocence, this nearly seemed meaningless in comparison.

Ichigo's mouth continued to say words too low for me to hear, but the aftermath of them had Hisagi lower my blade, his entire body slumping in such a devastated way, that broke every piece of my cold heart. And I was about to speak out, to demand Ichigo take back whatever he'd said when, suddenly, Hisagi was throwing his body against Ichigo, with shallow hiccups and shaking shoulders.

I laid there, my body aching, in a daze. Completely flabbergasted.

Ichigo patted the top of Hisagi's head and looked over at me, in his gaze I saw a million apologies but also a haunting. I really knew nothing of Ichigo, of his past or his present, but as Hisagi continued to cry into his chest after only a few hushed sentences, I wondered if I was even strong enough to handle the weight of yet another person's sorrow.

* * *

I took a long cold bath later that evening. Immersing my entire body in the numbness of ice cold water for hours. After stopping by the healers room- who informed me that my ribs were merely cracked, a few fractured, but no breaks- I struggled my way clear across court. Ichigo and Hisagi right on my heels, both insisting I allow Ichigo to carry me.

As if i would ever agree to such a humiliation.

Hisagi's tears had dried fairly quickly, and after a second of getting his bearings, he remembered abruptly, me lying on the ground, and rushed back to my side. Like a puppy with a short attention span. And ever since he had not left me.

Even now, with my teeth chattering loudly, my body shuddering every few seconds, he sat on the ground beside the tub, his back turned like a true gentleman.

"I am fine." I informed him, once again, though I knew it would do little to no good.

It was even worse to think of Ichigo waiting outside, no doubt taking advantage of being alone in my bedroom to snoop like a proper spy. I thought of all the things he could find that would most definitely give him all the ammunition he would need to humiliate me further.

I forced my attention back to the matter at hand. The matter that's ears were starting to turn red.

I rose in a smooth motion, the water splashing over the lip of the tub. Specks of it hitting his hunched back, turning the grey of his shirt to a dark black. My modesty had been extracted from me years ago, and I no longer felt the need to cater to men's ideal that I must cover my flesh, that I must hide it behind layers until they stripped those layers away.

Hisagi never looked up as I retrieved a towel and began to dry myself, the smooth fluffy texture somehow felt scratching against my skin but I wrapped it around me and turned toward the door, forcing my teeth still as I mentally prepared myself for what I might find behind the thick wood.

"How do you do it?" Hisagi's voice halted me mid-step and I glanced over my shoulder at him. His head was still lowered, and he was shaking- hands fisted. "How do you stand up after something like that, and just move on? Never even looking back?"

He raised his head, and I faced him fully, honoring his words with my full attention. He continued, "When I close my eyes all I see is your blood, all I hear is your pain... and I just stood there. If it had been you, watching, you wouldn't have hesitated." He looked away again, ashamed.

"We all fall, Hisagi. No matter how steady we are, there will always be things that knock us down. What matters is how long you remain on the ground."

He got to his feet, and I thought for a moment, that he had taken my words too literally, but then when he looked up, and I saw in his eyes, a determination that could shatter stone, I nearly smiled. "Teach me how to rise, Orihime. I don't want to be a victim anymore."

I walked to him, and touched his shoulder, slightly surprised by the building muscle beneath, "That, is not something anyone can teach. It's a line you draw yourself; a line between victim and survivor. And only you can decide which side you stand on." I gave him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. "Find comfort that I have once been where you are. Yet, while I was forced to walk this path alone, you will always have someone to talk to in me, Hisagi. For as long as you should need it."

His face stayed hard for only two heartbeats more, and then, Hisagi crumbled, threw his arms around me, and wept. His tears seeping into my already wet chest. It took me, perhaps a second too long, to wrap my arms around him, in comfort.

I let him cry, not feeling like he needed any more words.

I had never known, why it was seen as cowardly to cry. Why it is considered a crippling weakness. When your body is cut, it bleeds. And that is all tears are; the blood of the soul.

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

Ichigo was standing out on the balcony, and had not looked up, even when Hisagi had hollered a goodbye.

I met him out in the night, making sure to keep a distance.

Even when I leaned against the railing, and looked up at him, he continued his glum stare into the dim city below.

I wondered what he had said to Hisagi. Wondered what could stop blood thirst in its tracks, with such ease. I hadn't had the nerve to ask Hisagi himself. Fearing what recalling the words would do to him; I had caused enough of his suffering today. Yet, I found myself with a similar worry, as I stood on the balcony with Ichigo. He had spoken the words so low, as if he hadn't wanted me to hear. I could understand his want for privacy- not that he'd ever given me any.

"I appreciate what you did tonight." I stated, speaking out into the city.

"No one has ever thanked me for giving them an unjustified beating." Ichigo's voice, I didn't think it could even become that bothered. "Look, I'm-"

"You gave me what I asked for." I straightened and he met my eyes. "Do not dishonor me with an apology."

Huffing a laugh, Ichigo crossed his arms across his chest, and shook his head slowly as he muttered, "You're one scary woman."

"I have let myself be destroyed countless times, for battles that were not my own. Do not think I wouldn't do more for something important to me." I paused, wishing I had not revealed so much. Then, I remembered all of the secrets Ichigo and his friends had entrusted me with. Showing themselves to me had been a gamble with their very lives and they were still here. They had trusted me with a great deal. And Ichigo's actions tonight, had earned him at least a small inch of my rarely earned trust. "We may not be allies in whatever war is coming... but you have helped my friend, and I will never forget that."

I offered him my hand. Which Ichigo stared at for a moment, the only sound coming from all the watching crickets. Then, Ichigo unfolded his arms, and reached out. We clasped each other's forearms firmly. A warrior's way of friendship, small as it was.

Ichigo didn't release our connection, instead, he reached up with his free hand and ruffled my hair, all the while grinning, even as I glared my annoyance. "I knew I would grow on you, Princess."

Despite all the rules I was breaking, despite the ache in every part of me, and despite the cold still seeped into my bones.

I, Orihime Inoue, Heir the the Golden Throne, Enforcer of Law and Princess of Destruction, smiled.

That smile was cut short as Ichigo's face changed, his eyes shadowed, as if he was staring at something very far away, he released me suddenly, stepping back. And seemed to be stepping into another role entirely. Everything about it reminded me too much of my father- and all the fake faces he was an expert at wearing. For when Ichigo looked back to me, everything about him was changed. His shoulders seemed broader, his face hard and unfeeling. And even his voice, which I had become accustomed too, was deep and unfamiliar. "Word from the rebellion. Bronze needs to see you."

And then I felt a gust of wind at my back, and before I had time to even swirl, I felt a prick at my neck and the world became fuzzy, and then went black.

* * *

How many times had I awoken in a strange place? How many places had I been taken to after my consciousness had been taken away by force?

I would add one more to that long list. Because when I was finally brought back to life, with a needle in my neck and a head full of swirls, I was in a dimly lit room. With a smell that rolled everything over in my stomach.

All I saw were dark figures, fuzzy but close enough to touch.

I jolted, suddenly standing, knocking over whatever I had been on when I awoke.

Was I hearing words? Sentences?

And then, like a slap in the face, everything became clear. I was standing in the warehouse, from weeks ago. Then, it had been filled with people, all stuffed into the large space. But now it was eerily empty. And silent.

Bonnie- Bronze, was suddenly before me, the gray of her eyes had flecks of green in them.

Her mouth was moving- I blinked once, twice, but still couldn't hear her words. I reached toward her face, my fingers looked so tan against her skin, her delicate freckles so small and dainty.

I don't know how, but somehow her face shifted, and then it was Ichigo looking at me, his hand moving back and forth in front of my face. He was so close, and I felt oddly confused by his proximity. In a whirlwind of memories, all flashing in my mind so quickly I barely had time to make any sense of them, I recalled the moments before I was here, in this world of silence and dizzy thoughts.

And my knuckle split as it cracked against his jaw.

I was yanked back as Ichigo mashed into the floor. I didn't resist the hands of my captor, I actually welcomed them, for without them I surely would have toppled over.

Ichigo's laughing words were the first to break through the layer of fog over my mind, "Yeah, that seems about right." He pushed up, jaw in hand.

"You _drugged_ me." My voice sounded strained, for more reasons than I cared to admit. And, though Ichigo opened his mouth, it was Bronze that answered, "I'm sorry about that breach of trust, Orihime, but time is now of the essence, and I couldn't risk you declining my request to meet."

"What is this about?" Was what I had meant to say, but in my drugged state, there was no way to know what actually came out of my mouth. Thankfully, whatever it was, Bronze understood.

"There are more dangerous players now on the board, and I need you to tell me what coven they belong to."

I was shaking my head, her words too quick and jumbled for me to understand. She was there, shaking my shoulders. "Listen to me very carefully, Orihime, for we do not have much time."

I believe I nodded, the motion causing the room to spin, the ground rocked beneath my feet and I swayed.

Bronze opened her mouth-

And that was when I hit the ground.

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 _ **.**_

 ** _OOOOOOOO- WHAT IS HAPPENING?_**

 ** _Guess we all have to wait to see... :)_**

 ** _Please, please, please, leave some feedback! I'd love to hear what you guys think is coming!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**_Here we are again! Brand new chapter with, hopefully, some answers for you all._**

 ** _Sorry for the delay with it, I had to write my friends English paper, she got a 100% so its good to know my writing can be enjoyed even my cranky teachers._**

 ** _Thank you to the new reviewers! I appreciate you!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Lets hop in-_**

* * *

 _ **Bronze**_

There she was, lying on the dirty ground. Her hair, wild and wet, sprawled around her head like a halo. Looking to the world as dead as could be, if not for the very small rise in her chest.

I wanted her to wake up, even if only to scream at me, to cut my throat in retribution.

And she just continued to lay there.

Ichigo had taken to laying beside her as I paced the room, creating a rut in the hay and dirt. Propped up on his elbow, head cradled as he stared down on her sleeping face, his fingers brushing the smallest amount of hair away from her forehead. "You can really throw a right hook." His voice, so quiet and completely awed, gave me the impression that the words were not meant to be said aloud.

"Will you stop that!" I ordered, annoyed at his ease. "Why hasn't she woken up yet? Lirra assured me the dosage was only enough to knock her out for ten minutes, though she'd be a bit groggy..." Orihime's eyes had only been half here, something tugging her concentration away. One moment, she was standing, the next, her body just dropped. As if the very core of the earth pulled her down.

"You should have known the drug wouldn't be necessary. If you'd just given me a chance to-"

"Oh, yes." I cut in. "I forgot that you and Orihime are best friends now. How's the jaw feeling by the way?" I was feeling something far too similar to jealousy. The look in his eyes, hard and not at all amused, had me regretting, not my words, but the emotions so clearly hidden within them. I groaned, and rubbed my face roughly.

So many thoughts swarmed in my hectic mind, not all my own, and the pounding at the nape of my skull was taking way too much of my scattered concentration. I had to focus, I had to think. I looked once again at Orihime's sleeping form, and tried to imagine what the Heir to the West would do if she was awake to do so.

I had never seen her work through a problem, had only heard of the strategies that formed behind her stormy eyes.

I thought of the Southern War held only three short years ago, I myself had been too young then to participate, but my father had been very close to the front, had told me the tales of Orihime Inoue. Told me of her ruthlessness, her nonchalantness towards the deaths of her comrades. He'd told me, in the hopes that it would make my vision of her change, yet instead it caused her to rise even higher on the already tall pedestal I kept her on. I'd read up on every written word about her time in battle. Told by those who had struggled to keep up with her.

The battle of Lockhorn came to mind, as I tried to forge my thinking into a replica of hers. Lockhorn, once the Southerns strongest base, had been the longest, bloodiest battle of the six month war. With it's towering walls, and a mountain at its back, the base was unconquerable. The Southerners had built Lockhorn in an appreciation of the Golden capital, the strongest military city ever known. But Orihime had grown used to walls, had been raised within the barracks of the Golden army, and she understood, perhaps best of all, that men are beasts not used to being caged.

Orihime did not bring her army to their door, she did not have the male like restriction of thinking only in violence, of force.

Orihime was not yet known around the world, was not yet General, was barely out of her training. Dressed in rags and chains, she allowed herself to be presented as a slave girl, given to the Southern General, as a show of good faith. Of course, Orihime had known how the South treated their woman, and used their outdated mindsets to her advantage. For you do not fear what you have already oppressed. They had not known what they had let into their tall walls, they did not know whose body they gawked at. And by morning, Orihime had burned their entire world down.

She had been inside enemy lines, much as I am now. She'd had to wait and bide her time until the most opportune moment. And she had not been afraid to walk alone into the mouth of the beast.

So, I had my answer, my strategy. And I walked to Ichigo, and offered him a hand up. He took it with barely a flicker of hesitation. "I'm not sure I like that smile."

I just pushed past him, not stopping until I was before two large metal doors. Behind I would find nothing but disagreement and harsh words, and that dark smile widened as I threw them open, and walked headstrong right into the mouth of the beast. And I would not stop until I was nestled deep into its belly.

* * *

Do people dream when they lose consciousness? Or do dreams only come from a consensual sleep?

Because I did not only see black.

I saw a beautiful full meadow. With flowers and tall green grass, the sun was warm on my skin, and the sky was a crystal blue with fluffy white clouds, it went on for miles and miles with no interruptions.

I walked through the meadow, my hands ghosting over the flower's petals, they tickled my palms with their softness. The sound of my breathing was intense and loud, the rise and fall of my chest so small and unimportant.

A shadow of a person came up behind me, and I did not flinch as their hand slid over my waist. I knew, in such a dream like certainty, that they had been waiting for me.

" _No, you will be mine forever_." The voice was gravely, as if spoken through a voice dripping in death itself.

And then I woke up, gasping for a breath of a life I was worried I'd lost.

So abruptly the world came back to me, in a sharp, shocking clarity. My mind seemed to tingle as I sat up, taking in the warehouse, knowing how and why I was there, yet still feeling so utterly confused.

The space was dark, and I was alone.

I looked around me, if only to be sure that I was truly alone. And I was. Not even the eyes of Ichigo who was constantly watching. I was by myself, for the first time in weeks. And I was not at all relieved.

Something about the silence was setting me on edge. And I stood quickly, thankful that this time the world stayed clear, and the ground remained solid and still beneath me.

How long had I been here?

A rush of knowledge suddenly swarmed into my mind, reminding me of Ichigo and Bronze. Of their betrayal and Bronzes frantic insistence. A small part of me, despite everything, felt a twinge of worry at their now sudden absence.

But, then again, they had left me in the dirt. And that alone caused a red hot anger to swim up inside me, drowning out everything else.

I noticed then, a door that had not been there before. I could distinctly remember this warehouse only having one entrance. One door leading in and out. But now, on the far end, straight across from my current position, there were shiny metal doors. They gleamed from a light not present, as if the very doors themselves wished for me to come closer.

I obeyed, the curiosity winning out against my better judgement.

And as I drew near, there was a very faint sound of soft words streaming from the crack at the bottom of the door. There were people within, having what seemed to be a hushed conversation.

I pressed my ear to the cold metal. Hearing two people, perhaps three. I couldn't make sense of the vibrations from their words, and I forced my focus to hone in on the slight variations of each voice. I heard, perhaps, a few names, a town somewhere within Bellator, and then my name own repeated. Once, twice… and then the third, said right before a name I recognized.

I forced myself into the room, the door clanging loudly against the wall, sending an echoed boom throughout the warehouse. The room was small in comparison to the one I'd just left, with a large table taking up the majority of the space.

Bronze and Ichigo both jumped up from their seats. They were the only two in the room, yet I could have sworn I had heard a third.

"Orihime!" Bronze breathed out, seeming relieved

I looked over her perhaps too easily, and settled the heat of my gaze on Ichigo. His betrayal was all I could remember, all I cared to think about as I stalked across the empty space between us. He did not move, did not even raise a finger as I gripped the front of his shirt, tugging him down slightly; Hating the height he had on me. I wanted to spit in his face, I wanted him to see the forever formed hostility he had earned himself.

"You son of a bitch," I drew my arm back, ready to swing on him once more, wishing fiercely that I'd had _Vladimir_ when they'd taken me. I was ready to throw yet another well deserved punch into his already bruising jaw.

And then Bronze was there, her hand on my arm, trying to tell me to calm down, to let her explain. I did not particularly like the tone she had, the force her fingers had as she gripped my arm. And so, without ever taking my eyes away from Ichigo, I ripped my arm free of her grasp and with a swiftness I learned when stealing scraps as a child, I borrowed one of the three daggers at Ichigo's hip, and brought the jagged end up against Bronze's throat.

They both stopped breathing, realizing a heartbeat too late, that they were not my friends. That I would kill them both, very happily, for what they had done. The humiliation of being drugged, of being so distracted, absorbed, that I had not noticed the third pair of eyes on me. That Ichigo had been thorough enough in his task that I had let my guard down long enough to be over powered.

I had killed for less.

Bronze did not move away, and Ichigo did not try to take the knife from me. They both were too still, even as Bronze raised her hands, showing me her palms in surrender, I did not let myself forget their sly personalities.

"You ask for me to understand; to listen. You of all people should remember, what happens to the people who have crossed a line, and then ask for my approval."

Her eyes told me that she knew what night I was referencing, the very night I had slit the throats of her captors. They too had begged me to listen, and then had found themselves without the tongues they'd need to give their explanation.

"I will give you more than I gave them. You have three words, and only three, to make me ' _understand_ '." It was a lifeline, small, but fair. If her reasoning was compelling enough, three words should be more than enough.

Bronze decided she only needed one. "Witches."

My expression did not change, my position not at all wavering. But my knife did not cut into her tender neck, and that alone she should count as a victory. Bronze took my silence as an approval to continue, "Kisuke has sent word from Bellator. He has reason to believe that your father has brought in outside forces to aid him in his search for us."

I shook my head, "My father has no knowledge of you."

"Then, it seems, that the king does not tell you everything, _Heir_."

No, her intel was wrong. Clark left the matters of the city to me. And that included rebellions, no matter the size. If my father knew of them, he would have come to me. He would have sent me out, he would have entrusted their extinguishment to me.

Unless he knew I had already been here.

A cowardly shiver shot down my spine at the mere thought. And that chill remained in my bones until I myself banished the implication. If Clark suspected treason from me… well I would have much worse to worry about than Bronze and her drugs. I had not seen the king since Lucas had returned, looking haunted; completely defeated-

My arm went tense, as my grip tightened on the dagger "You attacked them, didn't you?"

"Who?"

"The Northerners!" I shouted. "Heading home after the Gathering. That is why Lucas came back."

It was Ichigo that answered, I had almost forgotten his presence "Sure, we sacked a few carriages, stole some jewels off of some royals. But we didn't target any in particular."

"Some fought back, we acted accordingly." Bronze added with a slight shrug, careful not to move her neck even an inch, as if it were nothing.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to shake her, or slit her throat. Everything seemed so clear now, Clarks distance, his reluctance to share. "Do you understand what you have done?" My tone caused her to go still. "The Northerners are our longest allies; Lucas is my father's oldest friend. You might as well have sent him a personal letter, inviting his attention to you."

I thought of Clark and his ability to hold grudges, his sure fire will that gained him victory, if only by sheer determination alone. And then I thought of Lucas and his undeniable temper, his four oldest sons still in the North, all having military training, who no doubt inherited their father's anger. I thought of myself, and the army I controlled, and my unwillingness to deny the king's wishes.

And I knew, with not even a seed of doubt in my mind, that Bronze, Ichigo, and Kisuke; they were all dead men walking.

I stepped back from Bronze, the dagger clattering to the ground, with a slight fear that her fate might rub off on me. That if I breathed in the same air, I would be sucked into her dying crusade. "You have a fear of these witches, but it is not them that should have you worried."

Bronze took but one step back, her tone strong and unforgiving. "Clark has no means in which to find us, none at all. He could search every corner of the earth and never find a single trace."

My first impression of her must have been wrong, for I had not even considered the possibility of her being a fool. Yet here she was, speaking to Clark's Heir, his own daughter, and thinking as if I would not go to my father and spill my guts open, if it meant my head would be removed from the chopping block. I looked to her, and could only sense a simmering anger. "What has you so scared, Bonnie?"

I could tell she did not appreciate my choice of words, but she swallowed her retort, steadied her stance, meeting my eyes. "With the proper witch aiding him, our own thoughts could be the very thing that sends us to the gallows."

Her words from before fluttered back, ' _Which coven do they belong to?'_

I scoffed. "And what exactly were you expecting me to tell you?"

"It doesn't matter now. You have been out for five hours and in that time I was forced to make a blind decision."

By her tone, I could tell she wasn't keen on being backed into a corner and I very much enjoyed the annoyance on her face. For I wasn't much a fan of being drugged, either. Yet, still I asked, "And what was this decision that couldn't wait a few hours?"

Bronze did not hesitate, perhaps in a hope to gain back some small trust, "To remove all of the rebels from within the city."

I was shocked into silence for a moment, then I considered the look of the warehouse. The silence and the emptiness. There had been hundreds of people here, soldiers, warriors. Bronze did not seem someone who scared easily, and I considered why she'd been spooked enough to believe her army of rebels would not be enough to stop what was coming.

"You made a good decision. Getting them out, before the worst was upon them. And now, you must follow." _Before I am forced upon you._

"Oh, I won't be leaving. And neither will Ichigo and a few choice others."

I stared at her, gawking at the complete foolishness those words possessed. I moved my stare to Ichigo, who had a tiny look of disapproval on his face. A shadow of hesitance; which was gone in a blink.

They both possessed a strength I'd never had. The strength to stick with their belief no matter the consequences. I hated how much I envied it.

"You seem to be a good leader, Bronze. And I have found myself respecting your steel resolve, but you should always remember that while, it seems easy now- to give an order to stay or to retreat- but, eventually, the moment will come when you must pay the price for your decisions."

She soaked in my words, as eagerly as dry earth absorbed water.

"I've learned that people become who they truly are when there's a knife to their throats. I've seen it, seen men who held themselves with power and confidence, shake and cry and beg. I've seen small women, weak and frightened, spit into their captures face. In the end we are all given a choice, to cry or to spit. To run or to fight. So I ask you, Bonnie Carter, who will you be when the knife is held to you?" The question lingered in the silence, and it echoed inside her eyes.

Neither of them had any words to say as I moved toward the door. Leaving a chilling emptiness in my wake.

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 _ **Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**_

 _ **Please review and tell me what you thought!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**_Oh man, what a week._**

 ** _I broke my ankle on Saturday, and just had surgery on it yesterday- hence the late update._**

 ** _I am on an imense amount of pain killers at the moment so please forgive any bad grammar or things of that nature!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Lets jump right in-_**

* * *

It was a long walk back to the High Courts. Through gate after gate I walked, pretending with all my might that I did not ache in my very bones. Head high, shoulders back, and even though I had not even one weapon on me, it was clear in my face and long stride that I was not to be approached.

I had debated when leaving the warehouse if I should head to the wall, thinking maybe the cool night air would be enough to clear away the last of my foggy thoughts. Yet, when the moment came, I found myself wanted nothing more than to be home, in the warm light of my bedroom, left alone to sleep the remainder of the night away.

I had never really thought of the High Courts as a home. It was where I lived, and slept, but very much different than a normal home. An average house was filled with laughter instead of silence. Where your father sleeping right down the hall would be a small comfort instead of a lingering torment.

But even with all those things considered, I was still all too eager to walk into the cold castle made of marble. To be among everything I've known my entire life.

I felt secure within the dark halls and I found myself relaxing with every echoed step. Even with all the pain and sorrow I'd experienced in this place, I felt an unmeasurable amount of relief.

And when I entered my room, it felt as if there was a thousand pounds of weight on my shoulders. My body completely exhausted; So tired in fact that the moment the door closed I could only stand before it, shoulders slumped.

I took three deep clearing breaths.

Clark knew of the rebellion, but if he knew how deep the betrayal went was yet to be known. And that did not sit right inside my chest.

Sighing deeply, I took one fateful step, ready for this worthless day to be over at last. A crunch of paper beneath my boot caused me to pause, and I lifted my foot slightly as I investigated. A folded piece of bright white parchment laid in bright contrast to my dark floors. Completely clean despite the print from my muddy boot.

I plucked it from the ground, brushing off the thicker flecks of dirt. Unfolding it, I wondered to the blazing fire still lit in the fireplace, and struggled to read what was written in a clumsy male script:

 _You are a bolder_

 _Beneath a setting sun_

 _Uncurl your fists_

 _And let the hate be undone_

 _A fire can destroy_

 _Everything in its wake_

 _Yet your flames,_

 _I sense are fake_

 _You burn, you bleed, you quake_

 _Look at me and tell me I'm wrong_

 _But I'll only accept it,_

 _If it's written in song_

I stared blankly at the poem, beautiful in words, yet written in such an ugly script. And as I was so focused on the page, I noticed, very faintly, more scribbles on the back, bleeding through in backwards sentences.

 _Don't worry, Princess, I only slipped it under your door._

 _I'm not very good with words or apologies, and_

 _I spent my time without your sparkling presence_

 _working on this small step to repair our broken trust._

 _I look forward to your reply._

 _Yours, most enthusiastically,_

 _Ichigo_

Dumbfounded was the best way to describe the blank emotion running through me. And also a little shocked by the amount of confidence Ichigo must possess. Every move he made was the exact opposite of what I expected. I did not like that I couldn't predict his movements.

I held the note out, fully intending to drop it into the harsh flames below, but something, unknown to me in that moment, made me hesitate. I stood there, hand growing increasingly hotter above the fire, staring at a small piece of paper, for what could have been as long as twenty minutes or as short as thirty seconds.

But in that time frame a thousand and one thoughts entered my mind. I thought of why Ichigo had left such a note here. I thought of when he'd had the time to come here without me. And I thought of all the possible ways to make him regret what he'd done to me.

I had let my guard down, for the first time in many years. I had began to trust a person, began to enjoy the carefree feeling in my chest whenever he was near, and now that was a feeling that had been ripped out. Stomped on and thrown away.

I allowed that emotion to over power all the others, as I dropped the poem in the flames, watching as the ink dissolved into nothing but smoking ash.

I slept through the night, and through breakfast.

I stayed in bed even after I woke up, to two new young maids bursting into the room. They had not noticed me, lying beneath mountains of blankets and sheets until they threw open the thick curtains, allowing the sunlight to stream in. I may have hissed at the brightness, and popped my head out from my cave of darkness.

They stammered out apologies, running out of the room before I could even utter a word.

And once they were gone, I found myself without the strength to emerge from my cocoon of safety and warmth. I did not care if I kept Clark waiting in the dining hall. I did not care if Ryley was waiting outside my door. I laid in my bed, and decided today would not be lived for them.

I curled myself around my fluffiest pillow and kept my eyes closed for hours and hours. It was magical.

And it wasn't until late afternoon, when it was time for the evening training, did I slip out of my bed chambers. Fully dressed, no longer exhausted, and ready to fight. In fact, there was an astounding excitement with every step I took towards the Center. Sometimes the only way to make yourself feel better is to make someone else feel worse. And training with the recruits, hitting them until they bled… I wasn't proud of how much I longed for it.

I'd grown up in a world of blood and broken bones, and like everything else, I was comforted by its familiarness. It was not right, but it was true.

Some fights had already begun before I arrived in the training quarters. It looked like the men had been there for hours already, though I thought I had arrived right on time. Hisagi and Juanca were both on the ground, bruises marking up their exposed flesh, and Hisagi's nose dripped with crimson. I looked on as I descended the stairs, feeling a swell of pride as he threw himself onto his friend, fist striking hard and true.

I came up behind Sam, who was, shockingly, still wearing his own shirt, crossing my arms as I stepped up onto his right.

"Sleep well?" He jabbed. "The children missed you this morning."

"Oh yeah?"

"No, not at all."

I elbowed him in the gut before working my hair up, securing it back. "You want to scrap?"

He laughed, shaking his head, "Sorry, Hime. My knee is acting up again."

I nodded in understanding. I was no stranger to war time aches and pains that follow you long after. Much like my left shoulder- which had been broken in my trials- Sam's right knee had been twisted, every ligament torn to shreds, and ever since there were days where he could barely walk, let alone fight. It wasn't often, mostly on cold mornings or rainy days- both extremely rare in the desert.

I surveyed all my other likely opponents, most were already in the middle of sparing, and the few that weren't, were either tending to their scrapes and bruises, or looked too inexperienced to make it any fun for me. And then I saw the recruit I'd chosen to accompany us to the merchant's home weeks ago.

Then, I'd been so preoccupied with everything else, that I had not bothered to observe him too closely, and so I took him in from across the room. He was large, tall and broad, yet slightly pudgy around the stomach. His hair was a light blond, with small streaks of red that gleamed. His size would be enough of a challenge. Like most of my opponents, he was much bigger than I, and had long arms and legs, his reach would be my biggest challenge.

If Sam could not fight today, he would have to do.

I made my way over to him, watching the others, stopping a few times to perfect some stances. And when I was before him, he bowed his head just slightly in respect.

"I don't believe I ever got your name?" _Probably because I never asked for it._

"Thomas Lowell."

I looked him up and down. "Well, Thomas, I seem to find myself without a sparring partner." Thomas looked a little nervous, but then seemed to think better of the opportunity and shrugged a shoulder.

Our fight began quickly. Men of Thomas' height and build usually have the habit of charging in first. No plan, or strategy, believing their size was all they could possibly need. But I'd never had the luxury of going in fists first, surely not if I wanted to leave the match alive.

For I do not fight with my body, I fight with my mind.

And in that regard, I am always better equipt.

Thomas used his first move, by trying to make it his last. His big fat fist aimed right towards my temple. I shifted back, and felt the gust of wind at my cheek as his hit passed. I locked away the knowledge that he was left handed, same as I was once, before my shattered shoulder caused me to switch dominate arms.

And with that knowledge, the foundation of my counter attack was formed.

I was told once that left handed people are natures fighters, their stances very different then their right handed counterparts. And I watched as Thomas regained his stance, and it was strong; sure.

I smiled. I would have some fun with him.

The next time he charged, he attempted to throw his whole weight at my chest, to get me on the ground. I threw myself to the left, sweeping out my leg quickly to take out his legs. My tibia bone connecting powerfully with his ankles, caused quite a crack.

Though it was the sound of his nose, breaking against stone, that seemed the most painful.

I looked down on him as he shoved himself up, blood spewing from his nose, his eyes already swelling. And when he re-stanced, it was not as steady as it should be.

"Root your feet," I instructed. "Lower your elbow, your liver is exposed to me."

Thomas took my guidance easily, fixing more attention on everything I remarked on. And in doing so, showed me a great amount of trust and respect.

And so the next time he swung at me, I allowed the blow to connect. It snapped my head back, but did not send my head spinning. "You throw a lot of your weight into your punches, boy. But it matters not, if you don't hit me where it counts." I brought my own fist up, slowly so he knew it was not in violence. Pressing my knuckles between the edge of his chin, keeping them stiff against his ridge-line. "When striking the face, if the temple can not be accessed, keep your aim on the jaw." I glanced at his gushing nose, "The nose is a sure fire way to piss them off, but the jaw has all the pressure points needed to inflict the most damage. You can easily knock them out with enough force applied here," I pressed deeper. "But this can also be lethal, so avoid it with your comrades."

Once I gave him all the education I felt he most needed, we continued on. And this time, I did not hold myself back.

Thomas Lowell had good form, and plenty of spirit, but he was no match for the amount of training and viciousness I'd been taught since I was very young.

He limped away, with the help of one of his friends. His right knee most likely bruised, possibly twisted, struggled with his weight. It had been a clean blow, honorable, but still I felt a tiny amount of guilt as he stumbled away with labored breath.

And even though he lost, he had put up enough of a fight for me to have sweat dripping down my brow, my hair no longer tamed.

The next man to step up did not fair so well.

Nor the next.

I was growing bored with just being an instructor, a teacher. And I was looking for Sam, to see if maybe now, after the few hours that had now passed, he felt well enough for just one small little fight to the blood. But it was not him I found, making his way towards me.

Ichigo, looking fresh and excited, walked right up to me, a smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eye.

"You up for another round, Princess?"

His face, right before I blacked out last night, snapped in front of my eyes, and a wolf like grin swept over my lips and I growled, "If there is ever a time I say no to that question, Soldier Boy, then you should be prepared to see me drop dead from exhaustion."

Ichigo returned my beastly smile, with a smirk of his own.

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 _ **I hope you all enjoyed,**_

 _ **Please leave me some feedback, I really love every review I get.**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**_Long chapters are the best chapters._**

 ** _Finally found some, clear headed, time to write and I hope this chapter makes up for last chapters boringness/ shortness._**

 ** _I'm really excited for you guys to read this ^-^_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters!_**

 ** _Lets jump in-_**

* * *

Ichigo removed his shirt, ripping it over the back of his head in a rush, as if he could not wait.

And I'm a big enough woman to admit that the moment his olive skin was revealed, when his powerful stomach and chest were released out into the world, the steel trap of my mind faltered. Actually, it was more of an unraveling; but I quickly picked up that small, human, scrambled part of my brain off of the Center's floor and, thankfully, Ichigo didn't seem to notice my mental misstep.

Everyone gathered to watch. Even Sam stepped up, moving a few of his recruits out of his way with a soft shove to the shoulder. "I'd be careful, Kurosaki." Was all he remarked as he settled in.

I rolled my neck, trying to loosen the tender muscles I seemed to have over-worked. Ichigo was doing the same, jumping around on his toes. And when he stilled, he observed me with an uncanny like reverence. I kept my face blank.

I had never seen or heard anything about Ichigo and the way he fights. I had not observed whether or not he was right handed, or if he favored certain attacks. I knew nothing at all. Which, under normal circumstances, would have me on edge. But I felt I knew, in some regard, how Ichigo would approach me.

He was tall, slim in build but with strong, sturdy arms. He was aware of his strength, aware of his clear advantage. Yet, he was not a man who would strike first. He would see himself as chivalrous for allowing me to begin. I would set the pace; he would let that pace play out, until he felt he had indulged me, and then he would strike for the throat, maybe the chest. Anywhere to get the wind knocked out of me.

After our previous encounter just last night, he would think that to be my weakness. And he would be wrong, and that would lead me to my opening.

This would be over quickly.

Ichigo had already spoken half of his sentence before I realized he was speaking, and by that time, I no longer cared for what he had to say.

"Do you wish to engage in conversation, or in combat?"

Clearly it was the proper response to whatever statement he had uttered, judging by the way he smiled, feeble and small, and by the rising in the watching crowd around us. Sometimes I wear the mask, and sometimes it wears me.

I felt my body slide, effortlessly, into the normal posture needed for what was to come. Ichigo followed my lead, and then, the fight was beginning.

Yet, perhaps, ' _fight_ ' was not the correct word.

It was like sparring with my own reflection, every step I made was perfectly mirrored. When I jabbed, Ichigo blocked. When Ichigo attempted to advance, I was no longer within his range.

It took me only a few seconds to realize, that while I had never seen him fight, he had been studying me for weeks, perhaps even longer. Bronze had mentioned that she had grown with the dream to become someone like me. And judging by the bruises I'd seen on her knuckles, she had come very close to succeeding. And if she had been the one to teach Ichigo, even only a few things, he would know precisely how to counter me; and he could have all the tools he would need to perhaps beat me.

He was using his knowledge well, none of my hits landed, and even when I altered my strategy; choosing to back away slightly, to allow myself to gain a stronger footing, Ichigo kept right on me, knowing better than to allow me that time to recoup.

I had never fought someone with a similar fighting style to my own. And I felt it was rather odd for someone such as Ichigo to use those comparable tactics. I was thinking too hard on _his_ movements, forgetting my own footing-

The Center went quiet as I slammed into the hard ground.

My hands braced behind me kept my back from connecting with stone, but my backside throbbed, as it had taken the majority of the impact.

And while everyone watching had no clue how to react in the seconds that followed, I stared up at Ichigo; who stood before me, hands on his hips and a smirk on his lips. He tried to hide the quick rise and fall of his chest with even breath, but I could see the sense of shock on his own face.

Ichigo Kurosaki had knocked me down.

I was on my feet, a rare, genuine smile, slowly overtaking my entire face, my cheeks ached with the strain of using such foreign muscles. He had taken out my legs, he had noticed my attention, so precisely fixated on his upper body; where most men kept their attacks… He had used my own strength against me.

"Okay." I quipped, raising my fists. I had not been giving him the respect of my full attention, and that disgraceful conduct had cost me.

Yet, even once when we both struck again, clashing together like sword's, I could no longer lie to myself about the bubbling excitement overflowing in my chest. I had been knocked down… And I had not allowed it, I had not let him overtake me. I had a true opponent, who I could lose to if I was not careful. I had forgotten what it was like to strike against a foe that could block me. Had forgotten that small fear in my stomach every time he swung; knowing that now, it could hit me.

I had let myself ignore the overwhelming boredom every moment I spent in an uneven match with Sam, or even Devon.

I flung myself at Ichigo, again and again. My fist and my legs both moving and hitting him in a whirlwind of excitement, and he met them all. It was a certain kind of high, I thought I would never have again.

Then, through the sea of movements I saw a loose opening.

Shrinking myself down, I forced myself into his fighter's circle, knocking him just slightly off balance. Before he could swing down on me, I brought my right knee up, and felt his stomach flex as the center of my knee collided right inbetween his lower ribs. His breath rushed out against my forehead, cold against my dripping brow.

I sent him some silent gratitude, before I let my guard drop just slightly, bent my knees and felt my hips rotate as they knew how, right as I sent my left hand into a perfectly formed uppercut against his jaw.

My fist was already snapping back down, filling its designated spot it had isolated only a second before.

Ichigo did not fall, and I was ready to take whatever counter move he had planned, but then his feet stumbled, yet somehow stayed under him. His arms, however, lowered completely, as he shook his head in a clearing motion.

Sam was behind him before he could lose his balance completely.

It only took him a few seconds to regain his bearings, and he grinned up at Sam before slapping him on the shoulder in thanks. Then Ichigo was looking at me, and it was a battle to keep the happiness off my face. It was hard to breathe, the inside of my chest felt hot, every breath heavy and steamy.

What was the tingling in my veins; the fog over my mind? Both possibly caused by the new found rush of adrenaline. I reveled in it, pleased beyond words at the fire pumping through my entire body. It had been _so long_.

"Again?" I gasped, trying to still my thumping heart; or at the very least hide its adamant enthusiasm from everyone watching.

Ichigo did not smile, or smirk as I had expected. But there was an odd look on his handsome face. And the way his eyes slid over my features, like it was the very first time he was seeing me and he did not want to forget a single detail.

And that look in his eyes remained, even when he stepped forward, and our dance began anew.

* * *

I knew my body. It had been the only constant thing in my life, and I made sure to know it inside and out. I knew its limits, its weaknesses, and I knew when it could take no more.

I braced my hands on my knees, panting; sweat dripping from my chin and onto the floor. My brain screamed at me to continue, to chase the high for as long as I could, but my body was close to collapse. And its warnings were the ones I listened to.

And it seemed my opponent was feeling very similarly. Ichigo was laying on his back, arms spread wide to his sides, his naked chest expanding far too quickly, up-down, up-down. I watched it as I felt my own breathing come easier in the few minutes we sat in silence.

Everyone else had left us hours ago, they had grown bored fairly easily- even Sam, who had reluctantly released the recruits early, so he could limp off to ice his knee.

I straightened and walked, slightly wobbly, to swipe my bottle from beside _Vladimir._ I gulped down a few mouthfuls before tossing it over to Ichigo, who seemed to have difficulty rising. He groaned loudly, laying a hand over the aching muscles of his torso.

I started to laugh.

I was not sure why, but the need rose in me, literally forcing its way up and out of my throat. Ichigo glanced over, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he did so, raising a perfectly arched brow at me.

"I haven't had a work out like that since I was a child." I explained, while he stretched like a long fat house cat.

"Well, it's comforting to know that you live up to your reputation."

I hummed at the barely there compliment, "We should get going, the wall certainly won't patrol itself." I had decided that Ichigo would follow me everywhere I went, and it would only be an annoyance if I allowed it to be. I had been asking for companionship my entire life, and if a stalker was all I was going to get, I would take it.

He groaned from his place on the ground, even going as far as to kick his feet a little in displeasure.

It took me awhile, but after using the last of my deplenished strength, I got Ichigo off the ground, and out of the Center. And while he protested and complained the whole way, when we were out of the High Courts I could see him visibly relax. It was easy to forget that he was in enemy territory, that he was on constant alert while under the kings roof. I connected with that feeling.

And I felt a similar sense of relief when I saw the sun, lowered in the sky above us, the colors of the sun set not yet overtaking the bright blue. I had deprived myself of the sun set the past few days, not wishing to share the moment with Ryley.

The thought of my betrothed settled a dark shadow over my heart. And I couldn't help but wonder if showing him my true face had been a lethal mistake. One word to Clark, and Ryley could seal my fate. Then again, deep inside me, I was relieved to not have to worry of his misguided love. Surely any affectionate feelings he had been harboring for me had vanished as quickly as my glass shield. Shattered into unrecognizable pieces.

"How long have you been here?" I blurted out, suddenly.

Ichigo answered the question without a moment's hesitation. "Only two months, give or take."

"And you came from Bellator?"

"Originally, yes. Though, I was in the South a few weeks before coming here."

I glance at him as we made our way through the merchant's district, and he met my gaze easily, his hands casually placed in his baggy pockets. "What business did you have in the South?"

I had not journeyed to the hollows that made up the Southern Continent since the war, but judging by what I had seen in my short time there, it was not a place anyone should go willingly. I tried to picture Ichigo, with his sharp features and all-knowing brown eyes, within the sea of copper tones and prejudices and could not.

"Do I seem like a man who has ' _business_ '? I was merely visiting, if only to say I had. And from what I hear, your name is used as a curse word along the inner border."

I chuckled darkly, rumbling up from deep in my belly, the sound earning me a few concerned looks from the townspeople. "Yes, my time there had been very short… But I had tried to make the most of it." I recalled the look on general Aizen's face as I lit the fire beneath his rebellion. And I remember the words he spat in my face before he dropped the foot into hangman's stance. My time in the South had at least been enjoyable- towards the end.

"You make that sound very ominous, Princess."

"Perhaps, one day, I will tell you all about it."

The corners of his eyes crinkled, nodding his approval.

We made quick work of the stairs, Ichigo taking most of them two at a time- it was a rare thing indeed, for me to rush in order to keep up with someone else. The wind was harsh and loud around us as we emerged from the open stair well. I took in the view of the city behind us as we walked, lights were beginning to be lit in most shops, leaving sparkles throughout the large city.

Lingering thoughts of the South had me looking to the High Courts, the glittering marble in such a contrast to the dark mountain it was carved into, the wall, wrapping around the entire city, connecting at the base of each carved rock, encased the town in a false sense of security. I had overthrown a city just like this one in the South, a poor replica, sure, but a military stronghold nevertheless.

Succeeding because I had spent years imagining the downfall of my own city.

"Did you ever hear the story about how the wall was built to keep demons out?" Ichigo questioned, over the roar of the wind. He walked a few paces behind me, letting me guide him.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" I mocked with a sigh.

"Why not? It seems like a good enough reason to me." I turned around, continuing our walk backwards. Watching his face as he talked. I was hoping to see a bit of mischief hiding there, to give away whether or not he truly believed it, yet his face was relaxed, giving absolutely nothing away.

"Sure, it's a pretty thought. But if that rumor was indeed the true reason, then the wall would be failing in its purpose." It had been an attempt at a joke but my tone gave away how serious of an answer it was. For I had heard of that myth when I was a young girl, long before I became Heir, before the vicious training. And I had believed it then. Even felt comforted by it.

But I soon learned that the walls weren't there to keep demons out, but instead to cage them inside.

"What makes you so sure?" Ichigo asked, his voice changing to accommodate my seriousness.

Suddenly self conscious, I looked away, yet still felt compelled to answer, "Because here I am, standing right on its head, and it does absolutely nothing to keep me out."

A laugh boomed out, drawing my still attention to him instantly.

"You're no demon, Orihime." He managed when his laughter, at last, subsided. "Look at you, standing so high, dressed in all white. You look more like an angel to me."

I felt a heat rising in my cheeks, even though I knew that he hadn't meant to compliment me. My traitorous heart sunk deep in my chest, heavy in its thudding. I looked away, returning my gaze out into the city, yet, as I took in the beautiful sight, I somehow found myself looking back at him. To find his trademark smirk flowing over his laughing lips, as if he could read my thoughts.

In that moment, I decided to punish him. And so, I swerved slightly in by backwards steps and I saw his eyes dart to the edge of the wall, before snapping quickly back to mine. "An angel, huh?" I grumbled, as if thinking very hard. And then when my senses told me the ledge was near I paused my walking, "Well then, why don't we see if I can fly?"

There was a very quick flash of something on his face, and I did not give myself the time to figure out what it could possibly be, before I flung myself back, soaring away from the wall, into open space.

I plummeted fast, down and down, my heart threatening to break clean from my chest. The wind whistled in my ears, and I thought I could hear it saying my name, welcoming me back, and I stretched out into its soft embrace, feeling unconstricted and utterly and irrevocably free- before I hit the net. I laid there for a moment, in a haze, allowing my rushing blood to settle itself in my veins before I barrel rolled towards the staircase that I knew was not far from my left.

It did not take me long to reach it, and I was met there by Ichigo, his hands braced on his knees- breathing ragged, head bowed as he struggled to calm his, no doubt, burning lungs.

I hauled myself over the small dip, pulling myself to my feet. I thought of Ryley and his over reaction, and I waited, bracing myself for the lecture that was inevitably coming.

But the sound coming from Ichigo was not anger, it was laughter. And when he lifted his head, his giant grin was revealed to me.

"Holy crap. Let me tell you, I never expected anyone, let alone you, to use the nets as a way to make a joke." He stood up straight, chest still heaving.

I could only gape at him, my mouth slightly askew. "But- you don't think that was reckless and irresponsible? That it was an unnecessary danger?"

Ichigo stopped laughing then, instead choosing to look at me as if I had sprouted a second head. "Well, yeah," He began, his tone clearly baffled. "Though, wasn't that the point?" He finished with a shrug of his shoulder, decided he would probably never understand my random bewilderment. "Come on, Princess, let's go get some food. Kicking your ass made me hungry."

I merely watched him as he began his long descent down the stairs- concluding on his own that my patrol was over after my daredevil leap. Ichigo had taken at least six steps, before I shook my head and followed behind him, feeling slow and slightly astounded. For, even though my feet were now planted firmly on the ground, I still had that light, airy feeling in my chest.

The feeling of falling.

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 _ **LOUD SCREAMING**_

 _ **I have had this scene written for FOREVER**_

 _ **Please tell me how you liked it because I can not contain my own excitement!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	19. Chapter Nineteen

_**Hello again, so happy about last chapters response!**_

 _ **And even though this chapter is so much longer than my usual updates- it still looks so small!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.**_

 _ **Here we go!-**_

* * *

By the time we had made it down from the wall, the sun had completely set. Very slowly, candles were lit, illuminating the streets of the city. Everything always seemed so large after my patrol. Looking down on it for so long always warped my memory of how completely huge the buildings really were.

I had given up on the idea that I would have some say in where we ate. I had attempted to stop at four restaurants, and Ichigo wouldn't even pause, or look up back to see if I'd kept on following him. And eventually, I didn't bother stopping, letting him have his way.

Perhaps, I gave in so easily because walking in the lower end of the city with Ichigo gave me an odd sense of normality. Maybe it was because I had no armor weighing me down, or that I had left _Vladimir_ back at the Center, but as I walked I felt like a completely different person. As I strolled down the back alleys of the Merchant District, I imagined what it would be like to live this life, to simply be a poor girl who was perhaps a little hungry but still free. In this life, I would have no responsibilities, I could go anywhere and do anything. I could work in a bread shop, and live in a tiny house. And I could be with whoever I wanted … I would never be forced to marry for position.

Peeking over at Ichigo, I continued to imagine that life. I engraved it into my memory where I could cherish it later, in times when the good was harder to see.

"Do I have something on my face?" He said, never even looking in my direction. I snapped my gaze away, embarrassed for my day dreaming. How foolish of me to think he couldn't sense my eyes as easily as I could sense his.

"I was just thinking you don't look like most Bellatonians usual do." I may have pulled the excuse out of thin air but he took the bait, laughing slightly at my directness. Though I had never been less direct in my life.

"Well, that's easy enough to explain." He kept his pace casual, likely so I could keep up, his hands resting, once again, in his pockets. "My father wasn't from anywhere in particular, he moved around, saw the world. When he stopped in Bellator he met my mother, he died when I was two so I don't really remember much about him, but my mother says he was devilishly handsome." He elbowed me in the shoulder as he talked, raising his eyebrows suggestively. ' _Must be where I got it from.'_ His eyes seemed to say.

"I may have been born in Bellator and my mother may have raised me there, but I have my father's wandering soul. When I was sixteen I left Bellator, I didn't have anything, no money, no where to even go, but I think if I stayed put for even one more minute I would have gone insane." I watched him as he spoke, his eyes shining with the memories of his past. He spoke about it as if it was so ordinary, that anyone could simply up and leave their entire life behind. As if everyone were that free.

"I'd lived everywhere, worked in pretty much every field, when I decided I would come here, see how the capitol lived it up. I can't really explain it, but just walking into this city seemed to put a darkness inside of me. I did some questionable things when I first arrived, things I thought I would never do. Almost like the city itself brought out all the dormant terribleness inside me."

Even I knew what he meant, I had grown up here and had never really left, I had always lived in the darkness that surrounded this place, and even I could tell that there was something sickeningly wrong. But I didn't want to hear about the bad, I wanted him to tell me everything good about the world outside of these walls that imprisoned me.

"You're truly lucky. I wish I could have seen all the things you have." I sighed deeply, the sound not nearly conveying the depth of my regret.

Ichigo bumped me with his elbow again, "You're still young; you have time."

His words, though kind, only made me feel worse. Because he was right, I would leave these walls, I would travel to the North, into the cold snow that would hopefully freeze me solid before I reached the city in the heart of it.

"When I leave, I will only be trading this cage for another." I had meant to say it sharply, but it seemed that my body was filled with so much regret that there was no room for anything else, not even the anger that usually followed me everywhere.

Ichigo was uncharacteristically quiet as we continued to walk past food stand after food stand. The only sound between us, our heavy footsteps and steady breaths.

I wondered if my words were too serious. If I had unknowingly crossed a line I didn't know existed between us. Ichigo always had a way of evoking words from me that I never knew I needed to say. But finally having the words out in the open, having finally shared them with someone else, I felt better, some of the burden lifted off my heart. Even still, I kept my mouth clamped shut, fearing if I even opened it to breathe, more words would come spilling out. I had a lot of regrets to share.

"Why are you allowing this to happen?" Ichigo suddenly demanded.

I looked over at him, and was stunned to see that his face was infuriated- his eyes glaring down into mine. A line was definitely crossed. The confusion must have shown on my face because he continued, his voice hard as stone. "Why are you going to marry him? Why are you letting Clark decide which life you will live?"

When his words seeped past my surprise I became furious. _How dare he?_ He, who had lived his life with no responsibilities, with no restrictions, how dare he judge me.

"Clark is not just my king but also my father, what would you have me do?"

He stopped walking suddenly, and I whirled on him, facing him fully. He flung his hands out, "I'd have you fight for your right to choose!"

Ichigo was shouting now, drawing the attention of shopkeepers and pedestrians, they all watched, but didn't try to interfere. Domestic brawls must be common in this part of the city.

"I've been fighting my entire-"

"You've been hiding your entire life! Hiding from what you really want, hiding from your people. You live in the comfort of your father's' shadow! Never having to make the hard decisions. You've let your fear cloud your judgment, but eventually you will have to decide who you are and what it is that _you_ want!"

A snarl worked its way up my throat, there was so much anger I could barely see past it. But deep down, past my fury and self-loathing, I could see that his words rang a sliver of truth. I had been running from my desires, trying desperately to suffocate them. I forced myself to destroy when I wanted to create, fought when I wanted peace, and killed my people when I just wanted to protect them. My entire sense of purpose was a lie, something I told myself to smother my towering guilt.

He was completely right, but I also didn't care.

I would break his teeth and make him choke on them. But before I could move even an inch or mumble a word, he was throwing himself into me, moving us swiftly into an alley between two shops. He pressed me against the wall, his body molding to mine, his hand clamped securely around my mouth.

Blinding fear flowed into every inch of me, my entire body going as still as death. And then it was if I was floating outside my body- looking down on three men holding me down, one working his way over me- before I snapped back into my body. Grinding my teeth, I threw my knee up and it landed solidly between Ichigo's legs. With a grunt, he withdrew from me, his hand flying from my mouth to cradle his crouch.

"What the hell was that for?" He wheezed, bending over slightly.

With him away from me, my mind suddenly cleared and I felt shockingly sheepish. Ichigo was annoying and infuriating but he would never assault me. My body had just felt a man pressed against it and retaliated, but it was his own fault for throwing himself at me so unexpectedly. Plus, I had wanted to destroy his teeth for his harsh words, but a good kick in the balls seemed like payment enough.

"There are royal guards up ahead, I figured you didn't want them to see you having an argument with a lowly man like me." He justified himself, straightening up. The pain seemed to be passing; telling me that I must not have kicked him hard enough. Though, I hated to admit, he had a point. My soldiers seeing me walking the streets with a strange man, my hair wild from my fall, would turn very bad, very quickly.

Ichigo was sure to keep his distance, as I leaned to glance around the corner. Sure enough, three guards- dressed in their full uniforms, armor and all, were speaking in a circle about 100 yards away. Heads huddled together.

They were far enough away that I couldn't pick up on their conversation; whether or not they had seen their general squalling in the square with a rugged looking man, remained unknown. I just could not catch a break.

I groaned, as I slumped back, banging my head lightly against the brick. Ichigo had leaned himself against the wall across from me, arms crossed, looking very unpleased. I rolled my eyes. If he was expecting an apology, he was setting himself up for immense disappointment.

He sucked on his lip, looking me up and down before saying, "Don't want to meet up with your buddies?"

The complete distaste and judgment wrapped inside those words, gave me a slight start, but I worked past it quickly. Those were emotions I was used to seeing in people, and I knew how to conduct myself inside their shadows. "They would certainly be a more welcomed company."

He looked away with a huff, and clenched teeth, before tilting slightly, so he could see around the corner. I watched his face as all that built up irritation melted and reformed as clear untainted rage. The way the emotion took over his whole body, from his dark brows down to his near trembling legs, was remarkable.

It threw me into a frozen state, so he was already moving past me, stepping free from the alley and towards the King's Guards before I regained myself and gripped him by the arm, yanking him back into our protective darkness.

"What do you think you're doing?" I seethed, only inches from his face.

In his eyes, was an unhinged- broken man, and, if I had not seen that look every day of my life, it could have made me pause. Ichigo didn't speak, perhaps he couldn't. And so I looked for myself, to what had caused such a sudden, unpredictable part of him to emerge.

The guards had not been huddled around themselves, but instead around a boy. Still in his teenage years, the boy was on his knees in the center of his antagonizers, his hair, a honey gold, matted with sweat and rush of fresh blood.

I tried not to jump to conclusions. They were apart of my army, and I needed to give them the benefit of the doubt. Surely, there was a reason… though, I could not see one.

Ichigo tried to pull free from my grip, and I tightened my hold, "There is nothing you can do, I have trained them to treat interrupters as guilty accomplices."

We must watch.

The boy was speaking, his head bowed. I could not hear his words, merely the vibrations of his small, young voice. The people in the surrounding shops did not stop their conversations, but most looked on.

Something was not quite right… I could feel it in the air.

And while I had not been able to hear the accused, I surely heard his judges, as they laughed, their bellowing echoing. "Did you hear that, boys?" Said the one with his back fully to me. "He's _sorry_. It was only an ' _accident_ '. Well maybe, you should have thought of that before bumping your slimy body into me. You smudged my armor."

The other two laughed as my teeth clenched, and I felt something begin to brew in the pit of my empty stomach, something angry and ancient.

"Do you know how expensive military issue armor is? It's worth more than your miserable life, kid. You got the money to repair it?" The boy shook his head, his tears catching the street light, flashing as they slid down his dirty cheeks. "Maybe your sister can pay that debt for you. She's a supple thing if I remember right."

I released Ichigo, and he turned a bit to look at me, but I couldn't tear my eyes away, as the boy found some borrowed courage, looked into the man's face, and snarled something too low for me to hear- yet I could imagine it well enough.

The man's whole back went rigid, "You little twit," He brought his fat fist back, gripping the young boy by the shirt, but that blow would never make contact.

Because I was already there, channeling all of the remaining strength in my bones into the hand that held his arm back, my fingers not even long enough to wrap entirely around his wrist. I caught his attention nevertheless, and he whirled on me, snarling out words I had no interest in repeating. The anger and corruption still very clear on his aged face, all of which evaporated when he saw who held him, when he took in who he'd just hissed his vile words at.

"Heir." He breathed.

I released his wrist, allowing him to drop to a knee in front of me, the other two following without a seconds delay. The boy, however, gawked up at me, his eyes somewhat glazed. I motioned for them to rise, knowing I would feel no satisfaction if they were not standing, and they did so quickly.

"We weren't told you'd be making rounds in this district today, General." Remarked one of the other men. I did not take my eyes from their apparent leader- though I would get to the rest of them soon enough.

"Explain to me what I just witnessed." It was an order, my voice going no louder than it would in a civilized conversation. I had grown accustomed to speaking past the burning emotion in my chest, luckily for them. I felt as if I could spur fire over them all.

"The boy assaulted me." Told the vile one. "Attempted to steal the Silver Blade right off me."

A clever story. It happened a lot within the lower rim. Silver Sword's are priceless, and are given to the recruits that pass their tasks, and some people, often those pushed to the edge of starvation, have tried to steal them from their districts officers. Not a very wise plan, but desperation can make a person do just about anything.

I looked to the boy, dirty, but not too thin. His hair long and healthy.

Pushing past the soldier, I kneeled before him. He met my eyes easily, not even trying to shy away from my closeness. Actually, he seemed to shift closer. "And what do you say of these accusations?"

"It is pointless, Heir, you know he will only lie to protect himself."

I turned, very slowly, to peer up at the guard, being sure to alter my eyes; hard and vicious. The man had the foresight to look down. "When I want your opinion, I will ask for it." I looked to the boy again. "Go on."

He gulped, "I didn't try to steal anything, Heir. I was running home, and I stumbled into him. It was just an accident." I watched his eyes as he spoke, telling me the small bit that I had already seen. His eyes remained calm and clear, his voice faltering at points, but I dismissed that as his fear of the guards. And when he finished with his tale, "What is your name?"

He seemed taken off guard by such a simple request, taking moments before answering. "Quentin Sanchez, Heir."

I nodded, solemn. "Thank you for your candor, Quentin Sanchez."

I stood, turning. Taking in the faces of the three men who had taken advantage of their position over my people, I allowed the disgust to finally overtake my features. "I have entrusted you to wear my seal, to patrol my city and enforce its laws in my name. And you have failed me." They shook their heads, slowly, taking a few steps back as I advanced them.

"Kneel." I ordered loudly.

The other two looked to the man in the middle, who had shock written in the lines of his face, engraved so deeply I didn't think it would ever fully leave. And only when he dropped roughly to his knees, did the other two follow.

I knew what I wanted to do, and if _Vladimir_ had been with me they would have been dead before I'd said a word but over their shoulders I saw the watching face of Ichigo, his arms still crossed, but on his face- I looked away, their fates were not my hands today. I motioned for Quentin to rise and he did, standing as straight as an arrow, arms taunt at his sides as he waited for me to speak. And when i did, I could tell it was far from what he'd expected: "I'll handover the terms of their punishment to you. Do with them what you will."

Quentin, a very soft spoken young boy, replied quickly, "Is executed an option?"

A few hushed laughs broke out among the lingering onlookers, that quieted abruptly when I nodded in approval. The soldiers looked like they might be sick at any moment, and while anyone else would have reveled in their obvious misery, Quentin was a better person than I could ever hope to be, "Just make them leave the merchant district, and never come back."

"If that is all you think they deserve."

"It's all my conscious can take."

Fair enough.

The crowd continued watching, a murmur going through them as Quentin and his three tormentors escaped in opposite directions. I watched them go, switching my gaze between them all. Quentin ran with a new sense of enthusiasm, seeming to have an almost skip in his step.

I felt the heat from his body as he came up behind me, not saying a word. Ichigo waited for me to look up at him, but I didn't, I continued to watch Quentin's retreating back, growing smaller and smaller in the distance. I thought of what could have happened, if I had not been here, if I had not come on my wall patrol, if Ichigo had not led me away after my jump, and no longer felt hungry.

I knew why some men joined the military, not as a sense of duty but to gain authority, which they thought meant gaining respect. I had never seen it before with my own eyes, the corruption. And it made me feel sick that the people in the Merchant District or even in the Lower Rim have some guards that overuse their power to torment them. And when they looked at me, they saw them.

Ichigo laid a hand on my shoulder, soft and slow, as not to startle me and only then did I look up at him. And, somehow, I felt he understood. "You can do so much good, Orihime." It was odd to hear my name in his voice. I had grown so accustomed to his pet names.

We did not stand there long, before I began walking once more, towards whichever shop he'd wanted to stop in. And Ichigo stayed close to my side, like he was worried I'd be swallowed up by the crowd.

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 ** _AHHHHH_**

 ** _Orihime is so soft hearted, I just wanted her to accept that!_**

 ** _Oh well, these things take time._**

 ** _Please leave a review and tell me how you liked it!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	20. Chapter Twenty

_**Wow, twenty chapters in... Seems insane that it has come this far.**_

 ** _Personal update: I am going insane. Daily reminder to appreciate being able to use both legs._**

 ** _I have to say, it has been weird to write such a long night. I normally write in broken scenes all leading to important events, and I've always hated that about my writing style. So hopefully this means I'm growing!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters_**

 ** _Let's jump in-_**

* * *

We withdrew from the long stretch of shops to enter into the Merchant square. While we referred to it as the square it was circular in shape. Completely round and surrounded by shops and many corresponding streets cut through it. It was filled with people and sounds, music played from a restaurant across the square, filling the night with a playful hum. In the center of the circle was a large fountain, with shooting water, cascading down the marble for which it was made. The square was beautiful, yet crowded. I hated large crowds, I felt exposed in the middle of such unorchestrated mayhem.

Ichigo on the other hand, didn't even pause, he walked confident and proud right into the mess of people, pulling me along by my wrist. The space was so packed, no one even noticed me among them.

They all bumped into me, throwing back apologies as they continued on, and it was so oddly normal. A shark among a school of fish.

Ichigo pulled me out of the sea of walkers in front of a small shop, with a sign out front telling us what they were serving that night, I had never heard of any of it. The restaurant was full, nearly all the tables occupied by families and couples. As we entered a young woman came up to us, her smile as bright as the sun.

"Hey, it's been awhile!" She addressed Ichigo.

I looked up at him, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I've had a lot on my plate."

"No room for even my fried noodles?" The woman teased.

"I'm here to make room." Was Ichigo's good natured reply.

I must have blended into the background flawlessly, for the woman did not look once in my direction and Ichigo didn't attempt to introduce me. I looked around, attempting to become comfortable with my surroundings. I took note of all the exits and windows, I tallied all the people in the room. And when I was finished with that, Ichigo was turning to me.

I felt immensely awkward under his gaze, the same gaze that had just been on his waitress friend, who had seemed to have evaporated into thin air. I pushed down the evil swirl of emotion in my chest, and let Ichigo lead me through the shop, past tables and their occupants; He led me upstairs that brought us to another great room filled this time with empty tables. Yet he did not stop there, Ichigo kept us walking until we were outside, standing on a large balcony with a solitary table, overlooking the square below us, giving us a dull sound to remind us that we were not actually alone.

I took a seat carefully, still watching out into the courtyard, somewhat dumbfounded that such a peaceful place existed inside the city I'd grown up in. And that I had never even thought its existence was possible.

Ichigo, who seemed used to the beautiful sight, filled my glass with water, before placing the pitcher back on the table with a soft thud. And that thud shook my mind back into place.

"You come here often?" I questioned, picking up my glass to take a small sip.

Ichigo chuckled, "I use to, not so much anymore."

"Why the sudden change?"

He took far longer to answer this time and when he did, it was simple reasoning indeed. "You take up a lot of my time, Princess."

I felt no guilt at his words, as he, no doubt, anticipated. For I had told him time and time again that his forever presence was not exactly a welcomed part of my hectic life. And so I said nothing, sipping on my water for the five minutes it took for the middle aged waiter to venture out onto the terrace.

I allowed Ichigo to order for me, only because the menu was strange and completely foreign to me, and if I was left to order for myself, I would most likely order the least appetizing dish. But when the man inquired about our preferred wine, Ichigo turned to me, signaling me to answer.

"Whatever you'd suggest." Vague enough.

"So," Ichigo began as the older gentlemen departed. "What do you usually talk about on your dates with lover boy? So I know to do better than him."

I rolled my eyes, "I don't have dates with him- and _this_ certainly isn't a date."  
I knew I was in trouble the moment that sinful smirk began its way over his mouth. "Music, romantic setting, private table? Damn, Princess have you never been on a date?"

My cheeks flamed under the moonlight, and I crossed my arms, reminding myself that I was the ruler of my own body- and i had no reason to be embarrassed. Yet my burning cheeks wouldn't cool, no matter what I told myself.

"But that is besides the point, I suppose." Ichigo said, saving me unwittingly. "Yet, you never answered my previous question." I waited. "What it is you and North boy do together. You know, _alone_."

I looked at him sideways, "You seem very curious about us. Why?"

"My curiosity doesn't let me choose what catches its attention."

"Yes, but I might feel more inclined to answer if I knew what brought the question to your lips."

Ichigo sucked on said lip as he considered my words. He was given more time to debate within himself, as the same waiter arrived again, this time with a companion. The young girl from before, who was very familiar with Ichigo, held a dusty bottle of wine in her small hands. Hands that looked soft and unweathered; not a scar in sight. I pulled my hands into my lap.

While she had seemed very chatty earlier, now she said not a word, keeping her eyes on her task. Filling my glass before moving on to Ichigo's. That is until Ichigo held his hand over the bowl of his glass with a shake of his head.

I held my tongue as the waiter placed our plates in front of us, the stem rising to embrace my chin. But the moment he was gone, the words practically flew out of me. "You don't drink?"

He was already digging into his noodles, cutting them into more manageable lengths. I don't believe anyone other than myself would have noticed the small pause in his cuts. So microscopic, and over before most would consider it begun. He smiled it away, "No, I've never cared for the taste."

I hummed, nodding as he took his first bite.

Like most men, his complete attention was swallowed up with every mouthful of food he shoveled up. It was both disgusting and intriguing to watch.

And the moment my own noodle dish past my cringing lips, I understood his enthusiasm. The taste was like nothing I had ever experienced. Spicy with a delicate twist of sweetness that swam through in a quick like fashion over my tongue.

I was thoroughly enjoying every bite, coming closer and closer to being just as quick and attentive to every noodle as Ichigo himself.

"It seems now, that you are the one avoiding my questions." And I could admit, it was a tiny relief to be on the other end of it.

"I would never avoid your scarcely asked questions. Your curiosity in me lifts my heavy heart." I gave him a business like look, demanding a no nonsense answer. He sighed heavily, letting his fork rest for the time being. "Remind me, again, of your, _undoubtedly_ , _beautifully_ worded question."

I ignored the condescending tone. "What fuels the sudden interest in mine and Ryley's relationship."

"Orihime Inoue, Heir to the Golden Throne, Iron fist of the West, forced into an arranged marriage to the North? My intrigue with it is only as sudden as the engagement itself."

He, cordially, waited five seconds for me to respond, and when I could not find the proper words, he picked up his fork, and went right back to his noodles.

"It wasn't forced." I mumbled, pushing my remaining food around.

He made a humph sound around his food.

""The marriage. I wasn't forced into it."

"Oh, is that right?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's not how I heard it."

"Then, you heard _wrong_. I can't be _forced_ into anything."

I suddenly had an image of two rams smashing their large horns together over and over in a show of force. Neither budging, making it seem to all the world that they would be stuck in that infinite loop forever. Yet, Ichigo and I both seemed to have the same vision, and it caused us to still. I longer than him, who just could not avoid the allure of his waiting food in front of him.

"You remind me of a book cover." He said, a few minutes later, suddenly breaking the silence, through a mouth full of pasta. "Like... a beckoning frozen image that hides all of these secrets beneath." I stared at him from across the table, torn between scoffing at his vision of me or laughing at the stray pieces of noodle dangling from his chin. When the food cleared, he picked up his water glass, swirling it slightly before bring it to his lips, sipping it like it was the fine wine sitting untouched in my own glass. "Books are written about women like you."

This time, all I felt the need to do was laugh. Yet I had to agree with him, if only by a small degree. "Tragedies, perhaps ."

He was shaking his head before the last word left my mouth. "Maybe at first. But the best stories have growth; change. The only books I like to read have endings you can't see coming." Ichigo smirked over at me. "And a story about you? I'd stop my own heart for a chance to read it. You're an indomitable woman."

"And cold and detached. A frozen image."

"That's the thing about books, Princess, you have to flip the pages before you can see the change. How do you ever plan on reaching the end, if you only ever stare at the cover?"

"Maybe I don't want to reach the end. Endings are normally the worst part, aren't they? They are often rushed and sloppy. They're sad in unexplainable ways; even the happy ones. Endings just mean that there's nothing left worth saying."

And there it was. Bleak and unfortunate. But true, nonetheless.

Ichigo didn't seem to know how to respond, he just thought for a moment. Mulling it over, carefully and thoughtfully. And I appreciated that. How he hadn't been listening, only wanting to reply- to debunk what I'd said. But instead, to understand, to hear how I truly felt about it.

And I had never really noticed, how many times I'd been talked over, ignored and pushed aside. Even by the people closest to me, how they would shut me down before even knowing what it was I had to say.

My heart broke at the realization. Broke millions of times, in the course of a few seconds.

I had things to say. Maybe not all important, perhaps at times completely unnecessary, but why shouldn't I be allowed to say them? Why was my voice so easily drowned out?

Why had I allowed it to be?

I sat a bit straighter in my chair for the remainder of the night, eating until I felt I would burst and sometimes forcing myself to say what I normally would bite my tongue to keep in. And, surprisingly, those things were met with such an Ichigo like vigor, he would laugh, even going as far as to spit water all over the table, or he would accommodate, adapt and grow serious. Making sure to give his full attention to every word.

And with the soft flowing music that never stopped and the hustle of the busy street below, I felt as if I was on a whole other planet entirely.

Even when I looked out, finding two men I knew fairly well, it did not break the spell. For Sam and Devon did not look up onto the balcony of the small restaurant, did not see me sitting at a small secluded table with our newest recruit.

Because in that small little moment, on that short little night, I was not Orihime Inoue. I was not the General to the largest army in the world, I was not betrothed to Ryley Vilantrio, or daughter to Clark Madoc.

I was a twenty year old girl, sitting at a table on a not-date with an almost acquaintance, in the city I, perhaps, could love.

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 _ **So this chapter had a lot more dialogue than I'm use to. If you haven't noticed I'm more of an internal writer, and it was fun to change it up and focus on pushing out those internal feelings and forming them into words.**_

 ** _I hope you guys enjoyed Ichigo and Orihime's first "not-date" as much I enjoyed writing it._**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**_Hey everyone! Sorry for the late update but I was catching up on chapters and the next one will come very quickly!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Lets jump in-_**

* * *

I awoke to a harsh banging on my door.

Dawn had not yet come, and I was angry at the unknown figure on the other side of the wood. And that was evident as I threw back the door with a force.

To find Clark standing in full dress, not even a slightly tired look in his eyes. The hall was a pitch black behind him, I could not even make out the usually shimmering marble floor beneath him.

I was acutely aware of my bare legs, sticking out of my long sleep shirt, of my hair nappy and wild. Yet the embarrassment was nothing to the feeling of my heart stopping clean in my chest mid beat. He had not come to my chambers since I was a young girl, still blissfully unaware of the horrors of the world. And now here he stood, his eyes still while they watched me.

So many reasons for him to be here now, and the only ones I could think of led to my head on a spike.

He motioned inside, and I slid back quickly, letting him pass. He looked about my chambers for a moment, his hands formally behind his back. I looked to the windows, where the moon had been shining in its light only moments ago, yet now, the room was as dark as the outside hall. Not an inch of light. I didn't dare breathe, to let that darkness swim down my throat and suffocate me. and my lungs were close to collapse when he finally turned to me.

"I have made a mistake." His words made me blink, and I was nearly relieved until I realized that they did not eliminate pain from my immediate future. I watched his throat bob as he gulped. "I am a man who can admit when he's had a lapse in judgement. I should have come to you the moment I learned of it, and I apologize for my lack of faith."

Did I nod? I must have, yet I could feel nothing of my own body.

"Our future alliance with the North has been tested. Lucas was attacked just outside our borders, his men killed by savages."

Recalling Ryley's face two days ago, and how he had been sure to avoid me since, I didn't think rebellion was the only thing our engagement had stacked against it. I shook myself out of my relief, "What do we know of them?"

"Inbetweeners. Lucas can't recall much, and says their faces were covered, yet that much he gathered."

"Do you trust his information?" My mask was finally forming. I had been shocked when he arrived, I had forgotten what he would expect from me when hearing such news. And I would try my best to make up for my moments of silence.

"I trust that he is angry, and that's an emotion I can back. There has been a rising in The Inbetween, and words of their rebellion have reached me."

The right amount of surprise showed, and a slight hatred. "I will annihilate them for you, Father." Bronzes face flashed in my mind's eye, lingering.

"I am not here to ask for your help. The trail has gone long cold, anyway. I am here to inform my general that war is approaching, and to make sure you have not forgotten how to swing a sword in these years of peace."

My jaw clenched, "I have not forgotten."

"Splendid. Hopefully your recruits are ready." I said nothing, only squinting my eyes; a request for clarification. "For their tasks, of course. With war on the horizon, I need all the abled men I can get."

I willed all my attention to my face, to the features threatening to collapse with an immense worry. "All due respect, Father, but none of them are ready for open combat."

"That is hardly a concern. If they can wear armor and hold a sword, they will do just fine."

"They would be slaughtered against an army of Inbetweeners."

I had seen a great many horrors in my life, far too many than most my age, and less than I deserved. Men cut open, trying to shove their organs back inside their bodies. Piles of the dead, stacked high on blood soaked fields, stretching so high I thought they would reach the Gods. Yet, none of those compared to the look my king gave me, the smile that I had somehow learned to mirror over these long years, a smile of a mad man.

"Soldiers die, my dear. That is what we raise them to do, what you will lead them to do. I will paint the world with their blood, and yours too, if that is what it takes." He ran a finger down my cheek, and even with all the strength the world believed I had, I could not meet his eyes. "I created you for this. Do not disappoint me."

The room suddenly felt cold, and darkness swam over every nook and cranny of the large space. It took the entire world away. And when Clark left not even bothering to close the door behind him, that darkness followed him. As if he had leashed it to himself like an untamed beast. I should not have been surprised, Clark had a way of leashing even the most wild of creatures.

I stood where he left me, staring at the vacant bed a few feet away, yet I could not bring myself to step towards it.

There are certain moments where your thoughts take over your entire body. When your mind simply does not have the space needed to hold every thought swimming inside yourself. Standing there in the pitch black, cold and slightly shaking, I thought through thousands upon thousands of scenarios. I thought about Hisagi and how he was not ready for his next task. I thought about Sam and how he had barely survived the last war we'd fought together.

And then, though I tried and tried to avoid it, I thought of Bronze and Ichigo, I thought of us on opposite sides of a battlefield, I imagined how I would feel to kill either of them- if I could.

They were useless thoughts, thoughts that would solve no problems, and save no lives, yet there they were, occupying my immediate focus. Eventually, I made it enough steps to fall into a reading chair. Weightless and heavy I sat in that chair, allowing for this small amount of time, for my thoughts to overtake me. I swam in them for hours, feeling their full weight on my neck and shoulders.

And then, a very traitorous thought emerged.

What if we lost this war? I had seen a small fraction of Bronzes army, and The Inbetween was a well known place for raising warriors. Its harsh climate and unruly people was the ideal environment to form a hostility of the surrounding world.

And Bellator was clearly no ally of ours. Kisuke made his alliance very clear, and with Clark's known hatred of Bellator, I knew that, after this, it would be wiped clean off the map. My name would cease to be attached to anything but myself.

For my entire life I was kept from the East. I was told I was not welcomed, that they would spit on the bastard of their most beloved princess. Yet, Kisuke was always warm to me, inviting me to come to his city filled with flowers and songs. Perhaps, it was a lingering love for his only sister that fueled such kindness… Though, I did not know if they were close in their youth. I did not know their age difference, or really anything about her, in general.

I had heard over the years that I look a great deal like her, yet never from Clark himself. Who avoided every indication that she had existed at all.

Having made up my mind, I hurried to my closet, dressing with a newfound purpose, that followed me through the dark court. My echoing steps all the sound in the world.

The library was, as always, empty. I knew it would be, I used it often, when I needed a little bit of quiet in a loud world.

Interesting enough, a city surrounded by culture and history, had no interest in the words of all the people who came before them. Even my father, who had spent years filling this library with knowledge, who'd taken a little bit from everywhere. Books from every corner of the world. Bellator, the North and South, even books from the dark pits of the Inbetween, they all had a home here.

And I was the only one to read them, the only one who sought them out.

I suppose, on this instance, their lose was my gain.

I took my time walking through the winding shelves, the towering heights of what felt like miles of books beckoning me deeper. Whispering to me, taunting me with all the secrets they all held within. But I ignored their call, for now.

Because today, I searched for a specific piece of history.

My own.

I knew the book had to be somewhere, that no matter how cynical Clark was, he would want his Heir's trial documented and stored, so that the world would never forget what he'd created. Though I'm sure he'd been hoping that it would be the Madoc name stamped into the pages of history.

Perhaps, he should have thought of that before having a bastard born with the Princess of Bellator. Men and their inability to look past immediate gratification.

Finally reaching the Bellatonian wing, I reached for the book with the least amount of dust on it and settled in. Only to find my name no where in it's pages. Snapping it shut, I moved on to the next- still nothing. My third option had me getting warmer, it talked of my uncle Kisuke and his late wife. And a few mentions of my mother, though never by name. Which slightly infuriated me.

They referred to her as 'Daughter to King Legatee Inoue' or 'Sister to Kisuke Inoue'. As if she did not have a name, as if her only worth was her connection to the men in her life.

Not that I knew much about my mother, but from the scraps I'd been thrown over the years, I knew she was a powerful woman. A warrior not of combat but of mind. Sharp and tactical. A planner. She'd been the strategic mastermind in all of the Bellatonian battles of her time.

And yet they only wrote her as a daughter, a sister, a mistress. Why did they have to write her as an appendage to the men in her life? Why couldn't she just _be_?

I couldn't help but selfishly wonder: would I be written the same way?

Would I not be known as 'Orihime Inoue, General to the Western Armies'? But instead, 'Daughter to Clark Madoc' and later, 'Wife of Ryley Vilantrio?

Would I be just another forgotten woman in history?

I knew it shouldn't matter, I'd be dead, so what difference would it make, what the world knew of my existence. Who cares if their facts were true?

Well, it seemed to matter to me. Because it sunk in my gut, like a brick in the pit of my stomach. Lainey Inoue had made a place in life much higher than I had. She'd been far more accomplished in her younger years, and yet I found nothing about her; save from her history with my father- which led to her inevitable downfall. It was odd to read my father's name in Bellator's history. I often forgot he would be mixed up even in their pure name.

I set the book down, slowly. Realizing an hour too late that I would not be mentioned in the thick pages of these books.

I did not belong to Bellator.

I found what I sought in a far bigger wing of the library. The history of the Madoc family was long and bloody. And its members were sure to document every second of it. I often forget that, in the eyes of most of the world, I was considered a Madoc. Though the name itself would never belong to me- or me to it- it was still in my blood. And that was not something that could be washed away, no matter how hard I scrubbed.

I looked at the thick leather cover of my chosen book. The words staring up at me were like a sharp slap to the face.

 _Madoc Family Tree._

The book was large, it's pages not all filled, yet they were yellow from years of passing from hand to hand. It was hard to open, to accept my place within its pages. But open it I did, flipping through the years until I found the beginning to it all.

" _Clark Madoc, first born to Warren and Salph Madoc._

 _Lilliana Madoc, second born to Warren and Salph Madoc_."

I ghosted my fingers over her name. Clarks once beloved sister, whom he'd butchered in the fight for the crown. Clark had been seventeen, her only thirteen. Yet another woman Clark avoided.

" _The oldest, best in charm and wit, chose between Blade and Gold._

 _He chose Gold._

 _The youngest, given innocence and love, chose between Father and Brother._

 _She chose Brother."_

She chose wrong. I skimmed the very detailed, bloody summary of their trials, not needing any more fuel to hate my father and his obsession with power and wealth.

" _Klaten Madoc, first born to Clark and Farran Madoc._

 _Sora Madoc, second born to Clark and Farran Madoc._

 _Orihime Inoue, first born to Clark Madoc and Lainey Inoue._

 _The oldest, best in strength and force, chose between Family and Wealth._

 _He chose Wealth._

 _The middle child, soft of heart and soul, chose between Power and Knowledge._

 _He chose Knowledge._

 _The youngest, gifted with beauty and brutality, chose between Silk and Steel._

 _She chose Steel."_

It had been a very long time since I thought my brothers names. Even longer since I felt the crippling loneliness that came with them. Sora had always been kind, he had been nineteen in the trials, far older than I, and he had willingly faced Klaten first, so that if he was the victor, he would allow me to win against him. And I had been forced to watch Klaten break his neck.

I pushed the book away from me, leaning back in my chair, suddenly overwhelmed. Just as abruptly, I found myself with an odd knowledge; I was now older than my older brother. I had a few years left to survive to surpass Klaten, who had died at twenty-three, but Sora… More of me had died that day in the arena than I cared to remember.

Though I couldn't help but read the summary of my victory, which on paper seemed far greater than it was.

" _Orihime Inoue_ _, thirteen years of age, battled Klaten Madoc, twenty-three, in the trials for the crown. Showing an immense tactical mind and strategic mastery, Orihime took advantage of Klaten's brute strength by narrowing his range of motion. Allowing the 200 pound male to tackle her, she had access to the most vulnerable parts of him. The battle was over in minutes."_

It was not at all how I would have told it. In fact, I had known I had zero chance, no possible attacks that would work against him. It had not been strategy as much as desperation. I had been prepared to die in that arena, with my brothers hands around my throat…

And if not for his pride, I would have.

Klaten was Clark's first born son, and he had never known what it was like to live in fear. He had never known what it was like to be the weakest one in a room, to be sneered and spit at. To be a Bellatonian bastard in a city of purebloods. He had forgotten what he was fighting for.

And it appeared that I had now done the same.

My chair scraped against stone as I stood.

I returned to my solitary table with arms full of books, taken from multiple wings, some from Bellator, others from the North- yet all would be used to educate me against an unknown opponent.

Stories of witches were once told to me on late stormy nights. When the nights were long and dark, where anything could be prowling in the shadows. I was told of Screechers, Bug-crawlers, and Steel-bloods. All only a few species of the ancient witch covens.

Screechers could enter a person's head, sending their whispers clear across the world. Entering a mind and leaving it completely desolated. Breaking down even the most powerful of psyche.

Bug-crawlers, the most vile of them all, are the mistresses of insects. They use their little beasts to spread disease and decay. It was said that when a Bug-crawler is near, the sound of millions of parasites scattering over walls and floors could drown out every other sound in the world.

Steel-bloods have held onto the hierarchy of the witch world for thousands of years, through sheer force alone. The fiercest warriors this world has ever seen, they wear the blood of their conquered like paint on the canvas of their immortal bodies.

And as if their iron skin and poisonous blood wasn't enough, they are most known for their inexplicable beauty. Their complete and utter wildness carefully crafted underneath skin as smooth as silk, eyes as deep as the wide sea, and lips as red as the blood they've spilt.

Beautiful murderers.

Bronze believed there were such creatures within the city walls, yet I was not fully convinced. Clark would have to be reckless beyond words to employ witches. Not to mention, that his mistrust and hatred of women rang clear across the world. Yet, despite it, he had been keeping a close counsel with a foreign woman.

Who glowed from the inside out, who reeked of death, whose eyes had shoved thoughts into my head.

The woman in black.

Devon burst free from the winding shelves, his chest heaving, his usually controlled features showing me true worry.

" _General_ ," Was all he said, but the tone- the clear desperation in those cold eyes.

It was enough to get me up, to get me running.

What I would find at the end of that distress, would alter me forever.

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 ** _._**

 _ **CLIFFHANGER**_

 _ **Let me know how you felt about this chapter and what you think could have Devon so worried!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**_I'm just gonna let this chapter speak for itself._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters_**

 ** _Let's jump right back into the mess-_**

* * *

Madness was a fickle thing. Known to all but the bearer- usually noticed too late.

I was beginning to think I was doomed to always be too late.

When Devon and I emerged from the long tunnel leading to the meeting stage overlooking a large courtyard just outside the court, I had not known what I would find. While rushing here I had anticipated a great many outcomes, I had pictured Bronze standing at the High Court's steps, with an army of rebels behind her. I had imagined fire overtaking the city, as the Gods burned it to ashes.

Yet what I found was so much worse than even my twisted mind could have envisioned.

The king stood before me, alone. Alone because his usual guards were at the base of the stage, keeping the people at bay. So many people were packed into the courtyard, I thought maybe the entire city had been brought to the base of our home. And when I looked to stage left, I saw why.

The bodies varied in size. Though it mattered not, short or tall, young or old, they hung the same. Rows and rows of hanging citizens, some of their feet still twitching, telling me they had not been there long. Though the twitching stopped as a gleaming soldier walked past with a torch.

And lit their bodies aflame.

Screams and cries broke through the crowd- I could barely hear it past the ringing in my ears.

My eyes were fixated on one body among the dead... Quentin Sanchez.

His eyes were open, and they seemed to stare right into my soul. Inside them I saw his cheerful skipping, I saw the tremble of his lower lip as he explained himself, I saw him spitting at the vile words the guard had uttered against his family.

And I watched as his body was overtaken by fire.

But...I had not been too late last night to save him… _I had not been too late_.

"You all feel I have been unnecessarily cruel. That the mere act of gossip wasn't enough for execution." I forced my eyes away, thinking I might be sick if I watched anymore of his skin melt away. I made sure my face was clear. Because I was a coward, I stayed still and silent as Clark continued, "But let me assure you that while they may have only been words now, they would soon have turned into something more. Something that could destroy the very way of life we all live."

The silence didn't seem to please him as he continued, his voice rising. "The strongest among you could not fight against the armies beyond our walls, without our rules the city would fall into the hands of our enemies. Our men killed, our women raped and sold, and our children turned into slaves. Without me this city would fall into chaos. Without me, we would all be lost."

As his booming words faded, and turned into a harsh silence, sweeping over the courtyard, slowly, one by one, people turned their gaze to me. They watched me cautiously, yet even a fool could see a shimmering hope glowing within their eyes. Perhaps, they had heard of my rescue of the boy, had seen it as compassion. The first they'd seen from me in two decades. And as much as I hated myself, I hated them more as I felt even more pairs of eyes fall to me, hated them because I knew what this would lead to. For I could see that, in their eyes, was a question. A question better left unasked.

 _Perhaps the Heir could rule?_

A question I knew the king saw as his whole back tightened, and his fists clenched tightly but then, just as suddenly, he relaxed. I felt the tension in the air rise like the smoke from Quentin's body. I knew that even though I had done nothing to draw their immediate attention to me, that I had not asked to rule- that I didn't want to- I would not leave this stage unmarked. My blood would spill, but the true question was, how much?

Abruptly, the king turned to me, exposing his back to the watching crowd. His eyes were of ice but his face was calm, soft and uncaring. I kept a similar expression on my face as he looked at me. Not letting him see the terror that had locked me in place.

He reached out to stroke my cheek, much like he had this morning and it took every last bit of self-control not to flinch back. He rubbed my skin for a moment before dragging his finger down, his nail scraping through my skin. I felt a small amount of blood slide down my cheek and over my chin.

I didn't dare move an inch.

He leaned down to look directly into my eyes. My time in the library had me wondering if inside them he saw her. Did he look into my eyes and see, not me, but my mother? I think I got my answer as he took my chin into his hand, crushing it between his fingers, so hard I thought my jaw would break. He continued to stare at me, as if just by looking he was learning all my secrets.

Clark released me unexpectedly, shoving me back slightly. My jaw ached but I ignored it, focusing entirely on his next words, "What has my dear daughter been up to? To have you look at her with such expectation?" He bellowed so loudly the people in the front row flinched. I could feel the familiar eyes on me, but I didn't dare look at them. I stared ahead blankly, a look of boredom while hell exploded within me. He was going to kill me. I could feel it in my bones.

When Clark didn't get an answer, he turned back to me and I met his eyes. I let some of that slumbering fire into my stare. Let it be done with.

I expected a physical blow but was met with only a smile.

The grin grew on his face, slow and vicious. And I think I would have preferred a punch.

So softly that I almost didn't hear him, he said, "Bow."

The confusion must have broken through my mask because he repeated himself, this time in a roaring shout. "I said, _bow_!"

Eyes wide, I did as he ordered, bending at the waist, my hair parting around my neck- exposing it to the cool breeze. I wondered if he would be quick about it or if I would feel every bit of his steel blade as he took my head from my shoulders.

But the blow never came.

"Lower."

My head snapped up. Clark stood right in front of me, his hands folded neatly behind his back. I looked at him, at his dark eyes and stuffy fur lined cloak blowing around him and hated him to his very core. Despised him with every broken piece of me. He smiled again, knowing.

The sound of my knees hitting marble seemed to echo through the clearing. I didn't allow myself to feel the weight of it. I didn't let myself feel the eyes of my people as they watched me. Tears of anger built in my eyes as I pressed my forehead to the cool ground and my very soul splintered at the feel of it. My body began to tremble, the loathing forcing its way out. Surely death would have been better.

Before I could even think to rise, Clark set the soul of his foot to the back of my head, pressing down until my nose threatened to break against the stone. All I could see was the huff of my breath against the marble.

"A slave bows. And that is all you are." His words were quiet, meant only for me. Yet they echoed in my ears.

 _Slave. Slave. Slave._

I went where he told me to go, fought for what he told me to fight for, and I killed every person he set in front of me. His blood flowed within me, but I was as much a prisoner as every person watching. Perhaps, even more. For I could not escape him. As much as I tried, it would never be enough. As long as I ran, I would never get far enough.

He pushed me down harder, and my teeth shook with the pressure.

"My daughter bows to me." Clark addressed the crowd. "It would be unwise to think of her as anything but my servant. My enforcer. _Mine_." His voice was brutal, and I had no doubt every person there had heard him. Yet, it wasn't his words that brought bile up my throat but instead my complete helplessness to stop them. My inability to prove those words wrong.

He, slowly, removed his foot from my head and I lifted it only enough to watch him motion behind me. Then, I was grabbed by my arms, and forced up to my feet before I could even consider doing it myself. Looking to the men holding me, I saw Sam and Devon, their faces perfectly blank. It seems I wasn't the only one wearing a mask today.

The blood on my cheek had hardened but I felt new, fresh blood dripping from my nose. No swelling in my eyes that I could feel so I didn't think it was broken, but I'd have to wait to be sure.

"While my daughter may be strong, and while she is my Heir, even she will be punished for such disloyalty."

I felt the presence of someone behind me long before I felt their hands on my back. And with the sound of ripping fabric still ringing in my ears, I tried to accept what Clark had in mind. I'd been whipped before, for just as stupid of reasons. I had made no act of treason. I knew it, Clark knew it but most importantly the people knew it. That was the point, I realized, if even his general- the _Heir_ \- couldn't be spared from his wrath, then what hope did they have?

I was turned around, and gasps rang out, the first sound the crowd had made since the bodies were lit. I knew what they were seeing and I suppose if I hadn't seen it every day I may have gasped too. I don't believe it was common knowledge the abuse I had endured by the hands of my father. The years of torture I had suffered long before I became Heir and the relentless training I had underwent after I was crowned. There had been times when I'd been thrown into the pits, beaten and cut open, not seeing the sun for weeks on end. ' _Training exercises'_ Clark had said. If I could not withstand torture, then I could not be entrusted with any of his secrets.

My back was marred with scars, the skin that had once been smooth and beautiful was now a ruined slab of flesh. And, now, it was exposed to the world.

Let them see it. Let them understand as best they could, that I too was enslaved.

"50 lashes for Orihime Inoue, given by the King himself." Clark barked, though I sensed his anger had somewhat faded; pride taking its place. He would ever admit it but I'd always chosen to believe he was proud of what I had survived. What I had been strong enough to live through.

A flash of red caught my eye and I looked to my left, past Devon, and into the crowd. I saw Bronze there, her face showing pure fury. I saw her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, and when I looked past her I saw men I vaguely recognized. Faces of the rebellion.

Judging by her face I knew what she planned to do. I knew she would rush up here to save me from the whip. From what very little I had learned about her, I knew she would do it for anyone. And while I didn't look forward to the familiar feel of leather ripping me apart, the rebellion could not save me and still remain hidden within the walls. Her hard eyes met mine, and I shook my head slightly, just barely moving it, not allowing Clark see where my attention had shifted.

I would take the whip. I would rather my blood spill on these stones than watch them be butchered. They may be reckless and foolish but they were still young and soon they would be ready to fight for something everyone wanted but were too afraid to dream for. They were young and yet they were willing to die so that other people could have peace.

I couldn't let such selflessness be taken from this world.

The first crack of the whip came as a surprise. Breaking eye contact with Bronze, I arched away from it, only allowing a minuscule hiss to escape my lips. Sam and Devon held my arms firm as I straightened my spine. I felt the blood flow down my back and into the remaining fabric of my shirt but I stood tall.

The second I was better prepared for. Yet even then, my body betrayed me, arching away, desperately trying to find comfort once again.

My stance remained firm as Clark continued. With each snap against my skin the whip grew harsher, ripping through mounds of flesh until nothing but bone remained. Through the thunder of the whip I heard sobbing in the distance. In a cloud of pain I had almost forgotten the audience, forced to watch as I bled. I was glad they were watching, that for once, I was not alone. 'I'm the same as you!' I wanted to shout. 'I'm trapped here too!' Though, I knew they would not understand.

My blood flowed down my legs and onto the marble, I saw it splattered on the floor around me and on the arms of my captors. I focused on the rough feeling of their hands on my arms. I forced myself to hone in on the sensation of it. It reminded me that other things exist outside of this pain, that there was something on the other end of it.

It was on the 32nd lash that my legs gave out.

I know because Sam was counting to himself, or maybe he was doing it for my benefit. So suddenly, as if a thread had been cut, my legs collapsed under me. My body became dead weight and Sam and Devon readjusted their grip, barely having time to steady me before the 33rd landed.

So much blood gushed from my back that I was surprised my body had enough of it left to fill my mouth. I spat it upon the marble, and stared at it. I watched it slip and pool, and wondered if, after this was over, I'd have any blood left in my body.

I believe it was lash 47 that knocked me unconscious, though I couldn't be sure because Sam's voice had gone nearly silent. And if I still had the ability, I would have been begging him to speak louder. I was in the blissful blackness of unconsciousness when the next hit brought me back. I felt the pain full force and nearly vomited. The soft sobs had changed to full blown crying and I wondered what I looked like. I wondered if they could still see me past the blood. I wondered if I looked dead to them.

In between the next blows, I heard Sam's voice yet I couldn't make out what he was saying past the sounds of the cries and mind numbing pain. But I could feel the soft droplets of water on my right forearm, surprised I had the strength, I looked up to see the silent tears on his face. Yet, his face was hard and if not for the tears he would have seemed completely unbothered. And then as I took the harshest and last hit, his voice rang clear.

"I'm _so sorry_."

The smallest of gestures and yet the words hit me deep. And if I could feel anything but blinding agony, I might have felt touched by them. And so, I tucked the words into my mind, where I could remember them later- when I had the strength to appreciate them.

"Dry them." I demanded quickly, my voice hoarse as if I had been screaming- yet I couldn't remember if I had been.

The tears were gone before Clark came from behind me, twisting his fingers into my hair and violently yanking my head back. My back arched along with my neck, and I swore the world turned as red as my blood.

I screamed then.

He leaned in close as my cry faded, his lips brushed my ear as he purred, "I hope this has reminded you of your place."

Then, Clark pressed his closed fist against the raw, gaping wounds of my back, digging his knuckles in deeply. I'm sure I must have screamed, but the sound was lost to me as the darkness took me at last.

 _ **.**_

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 _ **Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you have any feedback!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**_This is the longest chapter I have ever posted, hope you enjoy it!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Let's get back in-_**

* * *

When I woke up I was in my own bed. Lying on my stomach, with the numbness of sleep still wrapped around me, it was easy to believe I'd been dreaming. Or maybe that I had slept through the months of recovery. But as my mind became more alert, and the fog lifted from my brain completely, I felt the pain.

Not as fiercely as I'd expected but still there.

I didn't try to rise, knowing it would do more harm than good. I rubbed my face into my pillow and sighed heavily.

"I'm surprised you're awake." Ichigo's voice shocked me enough that my entire body tensed. Searing pain shot through my back and I hissed. "Whoops, sorry I thought you knew I was here."

Turning my head slightly I saw him sitting beside my bed, perched comfortably in my favorite chair, a book open and forgotten in his lap. Though he smiled, I could tell he had something weighing him down. I hadn't seen him in the courtyard but that didn't mean he wasn't there, or that he hadn't heard about it in detail. I suddenly felt shame, to have him hear my cries was almost too much to bear.

"What are you doing here?" I asked quietly.

He leaned forward, setting his book onto the floor before resting his elbows on his knees. "Just hanging out. Figured it was a good place to get some peace and quiet."

"How long have you been here?"

A half shrug. "Today? Couple hours."

I huffed a laugh and instantly regretted it. The pain turned my voice raspy. "And you've just been watching me sleep? How very creepy of you."

He didn't laugh but his smile became more real. "Well, believe it or not, there isn't much of a difference between hanging out with you while you're awake versus when you're asleep." Said so playfully, yet as soon as he got the words out, a darkness crept into his face. He clasped his hands in front of him, his knuckles going white with the strain.

We were quiet for a long while. Every time I considered speaking, the words would lodge in my throat. In the silence, I noticed a small bandage on his left wrist, a tiny amount of blood peeking through the bindings. I wanted to ask how he'd gotten the wound but feared it would lead to questions regarding my own. I didn't want to know if he'd been there, I didn't want to know how much he knew. But also, the thought of not knowing, of tiptoeing around what he might have saw, would be much worse.

"Did you see?"

The words were barely a whisper, and for a moment I thought he hadn't heard them. But then, just as quietly he replied, "Yes."

Shame swept through me with so much strength it nearly forced a sound from my throat. I didn't know why but picturing it through his eyes was too much. More questions plagued me, where had he been standing? With who? Had I screamed? I refused to let the words pass my lips. Better to remain silent; ignorant.

"I thought you were dead."

I looked at him then. His shoulders were hunched, his head lowered between them. But even though I couldn't see his face, or the true emotions that were likely written all over it, I watched the shaking of his clasped hands and saw enough.

"After you passed out Clark made a grand speech, about justice being swift. It must have been a real tear jerker though I can't remember a word of it now. As he was talking all I could look at was you. I couldn't see much from where I was at, just the bloody ruined skin of your back and your hair matted with blood but still moving with the wind and just the side of your face, relaxed into a deep sleep- like you were simply napping. I couldn't believe it, that even after everything, you still looked so beautiful. It's unfair really." He forced a smile to his lips.

Ichigo's words swept over me. Seeping into every wound, physical and mental, and sewed them shut, stitch by stitch.

"When he was done, they dropped you. Just let you fall to the stone. I thought my bones would break just from the sight of it. They just… left you there, lying in a pool of your own blood. Your own father, your own men, just left you there to bleed out. I was too shocked to move at first, I just looked at you, at what they had done. And when someone moved up onto the stage to grab you, a deep unfiltered savageness broke through me, and I decided I would kill them all, anyone who tried to touch you. That is until I saw the red hair peeking out beneath the hood... Me and Bronze carried you here and dressed your wounds. She'll be pretty pissed when she finds out you woke up when it was just me. Probably thinks I'll steal all the credit." He sighed then, with just a hint of a laugh mingled in.

"You should have left me there. If Clark finds out you helped me-"

"I don't give a shit what that old bastard knows. Let him kill me. Let him torture me and stick my head on a spike. If I had left you there, you would have died. And that's not something I'm willing to accept, let alone watch." He paused and looked up, searching my face. As if some invisible dam had burst, tears as big as raindrops fell from his thick lashes as he slid those wet eyes over me, from my bruised face to my bandaged wounds- he kept his gaze there. And when he continued, his voice was thick, "I don't expect you to understand my motivations but I knew the consequences and I accepted them- easily.. If I die because I saved you…that's alright with me."

My own tears wet my pillow and I didn't dishonor his honesty by trying to stop them. This must be what he feels all the time, a strong sense of kinship, of belonging. I'd never had someone to care about me in such a way, to pick up my broken unconscious body, not because they were told to, but because they couldn't stand the thought of leaving me behind.

Unexpected sobs raked by entire body, and the aching in my back worsened, but I didn't care. I allowed myself to feel the full weight of his words, allowed myself to accept his friendship. This happiness was worth any discomfort.

"I'm gone for five minutes and you make her cry?! What the hell, Ichigo!" Bronze ran across the room and was besides my bed, pushing Ichigo aside, before the door even closed. "Hey, Beautiful. How you feeling?" she asked, tenderly pushing my hair from my face, drying my tears with her fingers.

I didn't bother with words, they would do nothing to convey my feelings. Warmth seeped into me, filling my chest with a sensation I could only describe as light itself. And finally, I understood. Why they fought, why they were so willing to die for their cause.

I'd kept their secrets from my father, because I'd known he would obliterate them, destroying any hope at freedom. And I had taken the whipping to protect them for the same reason. And in that moment, with tears in my eyes and dried blood on my cheek, it all became clear, I knew that, when it came down to it, I would gladly die for them. Die for this feeling.

Minutes passed as I came to terms with this new revelation and very slowly my tears cleared, with the help of Bronze's soothing hands. It was then I noticed that, on her wrist, was the same bandage that sat on Ichigo's. I reached up carefully, not wanting to aggravate my back, and softly brushed my fingertips across the dressing. "What are these wounds?"

Bronze sighed and Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck. Both seemed to be waiting for the other to reply. I looked to Bronze, choosing her to answer, if only because I knew if Ichigo spoke, my tears would flow once again..

"You're one of us." She stated simply. "You will never bleed alone again. For if you bleed, we will always bleed with you."

It took a moment for her words to seep in and when they did I felt I didn't deserve them. I looked from both their wrists, up to their faces and couldn't understand what I saw there. A softness I'd never experienced showed in their every feature.

After that, we were all silent. There were no words that could follow something so poetic.

* * *

The next time I woke, it was not to Ichigo.

Clark stood over me, no armor, no weapons. He simply stood there, staring down into my wounded back. His eyes roaming over the bandages, pausing slightly to take in the blood that had managed to leak through. I tried to keep my breathing even, but the thought that Ichigo had been here, or Bronze, when he'd arrived kept it nearly impossible.

He noticed then, my open eyes, my shallow breaths, and his eyes moved to take in my face. He had a calculating, blank look in his shadowed eyes before he gracefully sat himself in the chair beside me, Ichigo's book, falling in the process, and I prayed he wouldn't ask about it, wouldn't want to know who'd been visiting me.

We sat in silence for awhile, the sound of crickets flowing in the air around us. I held my breath as he finally began, "I want you to know, that I didn't want to do it. But we must present a united front, it is essential. The people can not be split." He reached down, picking up the discarded book. "And I want to know what happened out there that day." He flipped through the pages. "Why did they look to you? What caused such... hope?"

Eyes glued to the object in his hands, I spoke with a trembling voice, "I don't know."

The book snapped closed sharply, and I jumped out of my skin, my back tensing with a searing pain. "Alright. Perhaps, that is the wrong question. I should ask who it was that brought you here... I wonder, who it was that wrapped you up so _affectionately_?"

This time, I kept my teeth tightly clenched. And they would remain that way, for this was something he would need to beat out of me. And even then- I would swallow my tongue first.

Clark must have seen that in my eyes, and I wondered if that was a good or a very bad thing.

It remained unknown, as he leaned back, sighing, "You have never been a defiant soldier, Orihime. And yet, in the recent months I have had to keep a closer eye on you. I have been lenient with your resistance to the Ryley boy. Have turned a blind eye to your affection towards the young Bellatonian in your recruit class. But," He sighed deeply, turning his attention back to the heavy book in his lap, opening its pages once again. He kept his attention there, reading through a few choice sentences. "I fear that I have given you too much freedom. And that you have mistaken my kindness as ignorance."

My body began to shake slightly, as he tore out a single page from the spine. Drawing out the ripping sound that now took over the room. I tried, with all my remaining strength, to force my traitorous body still. Though, it seemed the shaking was beyond my control.

"I could kill you, you know. I could slit your throat right here, right now, and no one would say a word. They would forget your name, forget your pretty Bellatonian face- and yet mine would replace yours in their nightmares, in their waking hell. And you- well, you'd just be remembered as that one girl who was killed by me."

Lies. I'd be remembered. I was General to the Western Army. I was Orihime Inoue of two royal bloods. I could not be forgotten.

I repeat that to myself over and over, as Clark continued his destruction on my favorite literary piece. I repeated it even as he tossed it away, even as he stood to look down on me. And I repeated it again as he pulled out a small knife from his belt, the blade gleaming in the dark.

"Tell me their names, Orihime."

This time, I didn't need to repeat it. For this, I already had all the courage I could ever need. I looked up at him, as he towered up into the shadows. Truly a figure fit for nightmares. And unclenched my teeth. " _No_."

Clark stayed there for a moment. His eyes fixated on my mouth, where the word had been breathed with fire, he sat there in silence as he took in the sound of it, the first time he'd heard it in my voice.

His face was hard as he turned, slowly twisting the knife in his grip. "The older you get, the more you remind me of her." He held out the blade over the small candle on the short side table, the flame danced over the tip. "She'd had a fire inside of her too, it had sung to the burning Madoc blood in my veins." The blade grew darker. "And when she'd told me she was expecting, I thought for sure our mating would bring me a strong male heir, built from the very fire that burned within us both. Every oracle, every whisper in the wind told us it was a boy; a boy who'd shake and rattle the very foundation of the earth. So you can only imagine my surprise, my immense ... _disappointment_ when I first gazed upon you."

The king twisted the blade over the small flame, and I couldn't tear my eyes from it as it turned a deep, smoking crimson.

"For you could never live up to the expectations of the Madoc family. Yet, Lainey had loved you, you were the center of her entire world. And I despised you for it. And so, after she died, I'd held you over a burning fire, fulling intending to drop you into it." He stepped back from the table, the iron blade now a bright and terrifying red. "But those eyes, those Gods-damn eyes. I could see her reflected in them but more than that, inside them I saw myself, saw that the flames were not yet ready to take you. And so, I showed you a mercy you can never hope to repay. I allowed you to live, and then you grew, dark and wicked and cruel. Stronger than my pureblood sons, and twice as cunning. You are the Heir I always knew I'd have, perfect in every way but one. Something you can never control, never change."

I don't think I was breathing, and my lungs burned, telling me I hadn't for a while. I let a strangled gasp escape when he sat down beside me, squeezing himself onto the open space on my mattress.

Clark, very delicately, brushed my hair from my brow, so he could look unrestricted into my burning eyes. "How things would be different, if you'd been born a male. How easy your life would have been... I believe your past life must have been a terrible one, I believe that's why the Gods punished you in such a way. Why they have forced your big, powerful soul into such a weak and fragile body. You must have done something beyond Hades own sense of evil to warrant being born into a lowly female." He sneered the word, as if it were filthy and vile on his tongue.

I refused to speak out against his declaration, knowing that's what he desired. Knowing that every word from his ugly, sadistic mouth was a taunting dance, trying to beckon me into damning myself further. I had spent so many years being tested, and I had failed enough to learn from those mistakes.

And while everything inside of me wanted to spit in his face, to wrap my pretty, feminine hands around his neck and shove a white hot prick down his throat- to show him precisely what a 'lowly female' could do- I would not.

But, I could imagine it.

"See- that look, right there, shows that you are my daughter. You might look like her, you might sound and move like her, but inside, you are as ugly as me." Clark lowered the blade close to my face, the tip pointing dangerously close to my eye, and I strained away, my back screaming in protest. My breath huffed up, fogging against the burning knife. "And that's how I know you'll tell me. You see, Madocs have never been notorious for our loyalty. And you, my previous Heir, are no exception. Now," His free hand reached up and pushed my head down into the mattress, holding me still for the coming pain. "I want to know the names, of every single rutting person who picked up your sorry carcass off that stage. Or I will pluck out your eyes and serve them to you for supper."

Despite the threat, despite the very strong, very real, terror that course through me, I nearly laughed.

What a stupid, barbaric, _fool_.

In all his ranting- his boasting about my mother and my lower blood ties. He had easily forgotten that I was no Madoc. And sure, once, that was all I'd ever wanted. To be welcomed as his Heir, for him to see me as more than what lies between my legs. But now? With his red, angry face inches from mine- with his knife about to scoop my eye from its socket? I knew.

It didn't matter what he did, how many scars he left on this body, within it.

For I was Orihime Inoue. Heir to the Golden Throne, the Enforcer of Law, Iron Fist of the West and I would bathe in his blood before the Gods took me.

And I'd do it with or without my eyes.

So, I bared my teeth, hissing out a nasty word, ready for anything he could give. I'd take it all and I would remember every excruciating detail. The word had barely left my lips, and Clark didn't have time to react to its vileness before the door swung open.

And there he was. Tall and sturdy, a dark looming silhouette in the doorway. Watching, seeing and understanding.

Clark stood, slowly, calculating as the man stepped into the room. "What are you doing here so late?"

"I came to check on my bride." Ryley said, coolly, his eyes flashing as they took in the knife at my father's side. Then he took in my face, and saw something- what I didn't know- but it made him take another wide step forward. "She slept for a long while, after I treated her wounds. I wanted to make sure she'd regained consciousness. I hope you don't mind my interference with your punishment, Your Grace. But I think if I'd left her alone on that stage much longer, I would no longer have a bride left to care for."

My chest caved in. Such overpowering relief washed through me, but I didn't dare let it show. Not one speck of emotion entered my face. I made sure of it as Clark glanced down at me.

"I see." He muttered, his voice dripping with disdain and disappointment. Prick.

Ryley walked to me, setting his hand gently on the curve of my back, delicately ghosting it over my wounds. I could tell without looking that I'd ripped a few open in my squirming, and he clicked his tongue at the blood now flowing freely through the bandages.

"I'll have to cut these off and see if I need to add more stitches. Hopefully, they haven't been open for too long." Ryley removed his hands, and shrugged out of his jacket. He had already plucked the scissors from the table with grace and bent over me, before he lazily looked over his shoulder, to my father. "I think she'd be more comfortable if we were alone for this part. I'm sure, she doesn't want to be half naked around her father." My teeth clenched and my cheeks flamed.

I hated the words, and the memories they yanked out from the deep forgotten corners of my youth, but I appreciated them. Especially, when Clark dipped his head, and strolled casually toward the door, sheathing his small dagger once again at his hip. He didn't even look back.

When the door was shut, and we were left alone, my entire body sunk deep into the mattress, clenched muscles relaxing at last.

The scissors plopped onto the sheets and Ryley's hands were on my face, my hair and shoulders, his eyes frantic, "Are you hurt?"

I merely shook my head, focusing on the soothing texture of his skin, as his hands searched and prodded for any injury. When they came up empty, he sighed deeply, his head dropping and shoulders slumping slightly. "Why was he here?"

A loaded question, one I wasn't sure I knew how to answer. He'd been all over the map, speaking of my mother and his unnerving desire for a male Heir, and sure, he'd asked about my allies, my friends, but something about it had seemed... wrong. Almost forced.

I'd seen him angry, and I'd been the subject to many of his tantrums, but never before had he spoken so much. Never had he mentioned her.

So I simply said with a shaky voice, "I don't know."

His hands became more firm in their soothing. "It's okay, Orihime. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

I met his black and silver eyes, and they were steady; clear. And for some deranged reason that even my erratic mind could not understand, they made me angry.

"And what do you know of fear?" I spat.

His hands stilled. And then were gone. "I know plenty." He countered, standing suddenly. He walked into the bathing room, and ruffled around for awhile, bottles clanging and cabinets banging.

I just laid there. Silent. Feeling completely lost within myself.

Maybe Clark was right. Maybe this was a punishment. To a long forgotten crime. It really must have been awful, to have earned me this torturous life. Why had the Gods cursed me, long before I'd had a chance to prove myself?

I'd been born Clark's daughter. I'd been born trapped; damned. I'd never been given the choice to decide on my own, I'd never been given the option to be good or pure.

I'd never gotten to live as a heroine. No, those are the people who are given a choice, who are born with the world wide open before them. Books aren't written about villians, about the people who slither through the night like snakes and kill and marr and manipulate. No one wants to read about the bad. They want to be given hope, in a world that has none. Read about freedom in a place that strips it away; Become someone because the words on the page have inspired it.

Numb. Desperate. Cruel. Unredeemable.

Those were the defining words in my untold story- and it was best for it to remain that way. For it would have been written in all the blood I've spilt. Would have been carved into my very skin, to reside on me forever, with the rest of my scars.

I said I hated endings. But maybe that was because mine had alluded me for so long. When would it end? When would it _finally_ end?

I hadn't even noticed Ryley cutting off my dressings. Hadn't even seen him return.

He didn't say a word as my wounds were laid out before him, and neither did I. I just stared at the point where his neck met his shoulder, where his pulse thumped beneath his pale skin and knew that a heart didn't have to stop beating, to be dead.

"I know," He began slowly, his hands still prying the blood soaked cloth away. "I know that you've lived a hard life. One that I couldn't possibly imagine. I'm not deluded, I don't think you are something you aren't. And I know what kind of man your father is. But that was before me, before I walked into that throne room and became entwined with your life." He pulled the gauze out from under me, leaving me literally bare before him, but his eyes never strayed from the raw, meaty ruined flesh of my back. "You've been alone for too long, and I can understand why you don't fully trust me- or anyone. But I'm here now. And from the first moment my eyes met yours that day, I belonged to you. And I swore to every God, in every land, to anyone who would listen, that if someone laid even one finger on you, they would meet a swift and agonizing end."

Ryley's gaze lingered there, on my wounds for one heartbeat longer, before that determined stare lifted to my face. His features were hard, his tone unwavering, "And so, your father is now a man of numbered days."

There was nothing to say. Or perhaps the words just alluded me. But Ryley didn't seem to mind my silence, he just continued to treat my back where four stitches had ripped open, his face not even showing an ounce of the viciousness he would need to fulfill his words.

For now, he just allowed me to sit in the quietness of his reassuring presence, his hands never faltering... and I could have loved him for that alone.

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 ** _Thanks for reading!_**

 _ **Please review if you have any thoughts or insight!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**_Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _Here we go-_**

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I thought I enjoyed being alone. I'd believed it was where I was most comfortable, where I could finally relax. I suppose too much of anything can turn even your favorite pastimes sour.

Staying still did not come easy to me. Though I knew my body needed time to heal, my mind told me to walk, to run. To find my way into the fighting ring and force my body to work like it once had. Yet the moment I tried to rise, my arms would give out beneath me, and I'd plummet back into my pillow.

My strength had not returned in full. It would come in waves, usually late in the night, when nothing productive could be done with it. The pain was something I could endure, quite easily. Far easier to take than Ichigo and Ryley's hovering. They were never together, of course. Ichigo was always careful in that aspect.

Though, his caution meant I was never alone. Ryley spent every morning beside my bed, helping me eat and changing my dressings before being forced away. He had been chivalrous enough to overtake our wedding planning- yet only until I felt well enough to resume the burden.

And the moment the door closed behind him, Ichigo would stroll in from the balcony, where he'd probably been perched on the railing, listening and judging every word that left my fiancees mouth. Ichigo would stay far longer than Ryley, simply because he had nowhere else to be, which he reminded me every time I demanded some time alone. Yet, though I would never admit it, I looked forward to our time together. Because, towards the late evening, Ichigo would tell me stories he'd stored away while growing up in Bellator. He told me of when Kisuke had fallen down the palace steps, and how he'd had to stand beside the throne for two weeks because his injuries wouldn't allow him to sit upon it. He told me of winter, when the whole city had a towering bonfire, and the women had started a new tradition of throwing their cheating spouses clothes into the flames, and dancing on the ashes.

Ichigo was a natural story teller, throwing in just enough of himself to make the story fun and fresh.

Nights were the hardest to bear. When Ichigo departed, taking all the light, airy stories with him. Leaving me with a head full of terrible thoughts and a body unable to run away from them. How do you escape something inside your own head?

I found a small solution in the form of paper and ink.

I had never claimed to be a poet, or a writer, but somehow the words flowed quite easily. I wrote to anyone and everyone. I wrote a story to my people, telling them about everything I had tried and failed to do for them. I drafted a letter to my mother, making myself write only about all the happy times from my otherwise traumatic life, so she would not feel sad for her only daughter. I even wrote to Ryley, apologizing for how cold I once was to him- though I still sometimes was.

These were all things I would never let anyone see. They were written only to console myself when the nights were long and lonely.

And yet, I crafted many poems for Ichigo. All written in response to the one he'd slipped under my door, what felt like years ago. I threw most of them into the fire, hating how the words felt jumbled and sloppy, while his had been smooth and elegant. I felt myself trying to force the words to fit, trying to pretend them into truth. But you can not force poetry.

It had taken me days to find the truth within myself, to find the words, and when I finally did, in the soft embrace of early morning brought after a sleepless night, I felt accomplished and grand.

And when it was time to throw that one good poem into the waiting flames, I couldn't bring myself to release my hold. I tried, struggling to hold up my own weight, for many minutes.

It was only paper, only words and ink, I tried to tell myself. Just because its physical form is gone does not mean the expressed feelings will be erased…

I hid that paper in the crease of my pillow case. Just in case.

It was on a good day, when I could sit up in bed without feeling ill, that Sam found his way to me. I had heard him pacing outside my door for a long hour before he could bring himself to knock.

It was taking him even longer to find the proper words once he was standing before me, he stood, on the opposite side of the room, his hands being rung in front of him as he looked everywhere but at my face.

I knew it would remain that way if I did not speak, "I want to thank you," I began, and his eyes at last snapped to mine. "For counting the lashes." I would have been lost without his quiet tallies, I would have gone mad wondering if each strike was the last.

Sam shook his head, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. "Don't- don't thank me. I already feel sick enough."

I tilted my head.

"Are we destined for this?" He burst out suddenly, his palms moving up to dig into his eyes roughly. "Are you destined to bleed, and wither away, to be broken and remade again and again? Am I destined to watch, to pretend I don't see it? Were we born to fight the battles of higher men; only to die on a field far away from home?"

 _Soldiers die. It is what we raise them to do._

I did not have an answer to give him, and if I told him what I believed, I was sure it would do nothing to console him. I was slightly surprised by his words, his emotions. Sam had always been quiet when not laughing or joking. He had been a sturdy stone in the rushing waters of the High Courts.

"We are soldiers, Sam. We will do what we must."

His hands lowered, revealing eyes too dead to belong to him. "That isn't good enough for me. Not after-" He cut himself off, to take a much needed steadying breath. And I realized, water strips away even the strongest of stone, if given the time to do so. "Aren't you angry? Look what he did to you!"

"I've had worse."

"I know." My body stilled and I watched him slowly. "I've been with you since the beginning, Hime. I remember you thirteen and wild, I remember your life and spirit. Your incredible laugh, your caring soul. And I also remember when you were gone for weeks, gone without a trace. And when you emerged as something else entirely."

"That's enough." I demanded.

He continued as if I'd said nothing, "I've heard rumors about your time down in the pits. From people who claim to have been there, to have watched as you ripped those men apart." I was shaking my head, my chest suddenly tight, leaving no room for air. "But I know you, Orihime, more than you think. So what truly happened down there? What horrors did you see in the dark? I need to know, then I-"

"Don't you think there's a reason I don't talk about it?" I yelled, shocking even myself. The room suddenly looked different, it morphed into darkness and stone around me. "If you knew even a fraction of what happened down in those tunnels, you'd never look at me the same way. It would be all you saw."

"I already know-"

I cut him off once more, "No. You don't."

"Then tell me, make me understand. I've been your friend, haven't I? I've watched your back, fought beside you in the South, taken over training the new recruits. I've done everything you've ever asked of me- just let me help you."

"And how exactly can you help me?"

He opened his mouth, no sound coming out, shaking his head as a million and one possible solutions flew behind his eyes. "I don't know. I mean, sometimes talking can help. Maybe, just talking about it will move along the healing."

I'd considered that. Long ago, when the wounds were fresh, all I'd wanted was to talk about it. To scream until my voice grew hoarse. But then, time passed, and the cuts turned to scabs, and then into scars. I pushed everything down. Shoving it into such a dark part of my mind, so the light could never reach it. I had wished it away, and now it flew back up, flashing before my eyes in a whirlwind of anger and pain. "It will never heal, it is forever engraved on my body."

The simple fact was, Sam was too late. Seven years too late.

And now, there was nothing left for him to save.

Understanding dawned in the lines of his rugged face, "The scars…" I did not say anything, knowing there was no need. We had both tortured prisoners in war and we both knew the marks such torment left.

He went to walk towards me, then stopped, thought better of it, and stayed put. Hands fisted tightly at his side, head bowed slightly. "I can never forgive what he did to you; What he made _me_ do to you. You understand what that means, don't you?" Though his voice was quiet, it was also stern. The tone of a man who'd made up his mind and would not be talked away from the ledge.

I had heard it in his voice only once before. The night he'd gone searching for his mother's murderer. When he'd forced me to stay behind, insisting it was a journey he needed to make alone.

Normally, I would respect such a decision- much like I had that night. If not for the feeling that, this time, he would never make it back down. I had lost many companions over the years, some more heartbreaking than others. Yet, Sam had always survived. Sam had always found his way back.

And because he had counted, I took one step onto that ledge with him.

"You know, I don't remember much of that day. I remember the heat, and the smell, but most of all, I remember my father's words. He called me his enforcer, his _servant_. And in a way, I suppose he has a point." I sat up, cringing with the strain. "For what good is a General that does not serve. What good is an Heir that does not learn from the mistakes of her father. I have understood your words, Sam Cortman. And now I ask that you understand mine." I slipped off my bed, the ground cold against my bare feet. It shot chills up my legs, yet I did not allow that to slow me down. I took one step towards him, then another. Struggling with every inch gained, but Sam did not try to assist me, he knew where these steps were leading me. "I have led men to die. I have watched our friends be cut down. And I have abandoned the idea that I can be redeemed." I finally reached him, my entire body shaking, whether it be from the anger rising inside me or my muscles about to collapse, it didn't matter. I fisted my fingers in his shirt, and snarled, "If you think I will allow you to destroy the one good thing that's managed to survive in the hollows of this place, all because you think it will gain you some sense of redemption, you truly know nothing about me. If you want forgiveness, then you shall earn it by remaining by my side. You shall earn it by saving the lives of our recruits."

My legs had gone numb, somehow remaining under me in the moments that followed. Sam never took his gaze off me, never altered his blank expression. And for one agonizing heart beat, I thought it would not be enough. That my words had come too late. Always too late.

But then, he reached up, untangled my grip on his tunic, and clasped my forearm tightly. Clenching to it like it was his lifeline. As if it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

"I will stand with you, Orihime Inoue. The steel of my blade will strike at your enemies. The beat of my heart depends wholly on the thumping of your own. And, even if it takes the remainder of my life, I will repay every drop of your blood that was spilt by my aid. If I ever stray from my oath to you, then I ask for you to bear witness as Sancus, Goddess of Oaths, strikes me dead."

His words were ancient, having not been spoken since long before even my grandfather's time. And they could not have been spoken at a more perfect time.

"Good." I smiled, returning his forearm grip. "For we have work to do."

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 _ **Another chapter down. I can't believe how far this story has come, and I just want to thank all of you who have supported it.**_

 _ **It means so much to me- really.**_

 ** _Till next time-_**


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**_Hey everyone, sorry for the late update, I had two sudden deaths in the family and things have been very hectic._**

 ** _I really struggled halfway through this chapter, and I hope my forcing it came out well._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters_**

 ** _WARNING: This chapter is a bit controversial, but if you can't handle it then this story probably isn't for you. _**

**_Lets jump in-_**

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"Do you own any other colors than white?" Bronze bellowed, the next afternoon, her words sweeping out from deep in my closet, where she'd been throwing around piles of my clothes all morning.

I stretched my arms above my head, the old, worn spine of my book, allowing it to stay open in my lap as I did so. "There is a splash of black and red somewhere." I replied, not able to put any amount of care into my words, as I returned my attention back to the story of two star-crossed lovers, dying together.

Ichigo groaned from his place on the couch, "Are we ever leaving this room again? If I hear another word regarding which tunic matches which pair of boots, I'll go mad."

"If you find our company so boring, feel free to find your way onto the balcony railing and jump." Bronze replied quickly, her voice no more than a muffled huff.

"Orihime could never bore me. Though, you on the other hand,"

"Bite me."

"You'd like that wouldn't you, Masochist."

"Better a masochist than a pleasure hall whore." Bronze growled, poking her head out.

Ichigo sat up quickly, twisting, his brows crinkled, lip raised in a sneer, "Watch it," He turned to me, "Don't listen to a single word she says."

Bonnie groaned, "By the Gods, stop pining after her like some imprinted duckling, it's becoming difficult to stomach."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd know all about it, _Bronze._ " Was Ichigo's quick retort, her nickname a mocking that hung in the air as Bronze tried and failed to counter it.

I flipped my page dramatically, sighing like some tired den mother, "You two bicker like children."

Ichigo sunk back down, with a mumbled, "She started it." Causing Bonnie to stick out her tongue at him, before disappearing back into the mess she'd created.

I couldn't help but agree with Ichigo's earlier sentiment. I had never been one for girl talk, having found it rather difficult since I'd only had men as companions. When I was a young girl I'd attempt conversations with the maids, but they were all usually too fearful to say anything meaningful, and so I'd taken to ignoring them for their own comfort.

Yet, it seems Bronze had no quarrels with such things. Upon meeting her I had assumed her to be a quiet woman, internal like myself- and had been surprised to find the opposite to be true. The woman could speak for hours, hardly ever coming up for air. Thankfully, she didn't seem to mind that I had nothing worthwhile to add.

But I desperately needed a release from my chambers. From the view from my balcony that had somehow turned less beautiful and more taunting. And in the swarm of all the things I could no longer do- sleep comfortably, train, walk without pain- I found myself dreaming of running, though I had never been much a fan of it.

Yet the freedom that could be found in echoed footsteps over an empty Center, it was all I craved.

Like Ichigo, who was, perhaps, just as restricted as myself, I was beginning to feel smothered. I snapped my book closed and threw it to the foot of the bed, rubbing at my face roughly, trying to keep the aggravated groan from escaping.

A wild gasp sounded moments before Bronze rushed out, a blur of red and black. "It's so," She struggled to find the words, as she stroked a hand down the matted black sleeve. "Diabolical."

I wondered if there could be any other word to describe the thing she held. Black as the night itself, designed to shield me from unwanted eyes, when I was sent out by my King's command. The last time I had taken it from its spot in the back cobwebs of my closet, a man's head had rolled. It made me truly sick to look at it.

Bronze, of course, had no way of knowing, as she looked it up and down with a clear look of want and admiration, that the thing she held reeked of death and tears and all the horrors I'd done.

She held it up to her body, straightening it to her length, "Imagine the look on Kisuke's face if I returned home clad in executioner leather. I have to try it on!"

"No!"

She halted in her tracks, half turned toward the bath door. And even Ichigo, who had been ignoring her completely looked up at my sudden declaration. They both watched me, Ichigo's calculating eyes flashing between our faces.

They waited for me to speak, to give some sort of explanation. I tried to think of an excuse that would warrant such strong disapproval, and came up as empty as the void cracking open inside my chest.

Sometimes, no matter how skilled a liar you are, the truth is all you have to give. "That is not an outfit suited for you. It is what I wear when I intend to spill the blood of the innocent. I do not wear it proudly, or with excitement. So put it back where you found it, wash your hands, and never speak of it again."

Bronze hesitated, the look she gave one of conflicted understanding. I could tell there were words forming on the tip of her iron tongue, and I braced myself for the questions, for her view of me to shift like it undoubtedly would.

Ichigo stood, swiftly and with purpose, "You heard her."

He and Bronze shared a look, and he flicked a nod over her shoulder.

She disappeared, reemerging hands empty.

I pushed past the look in her eyes, and demanded, "Tell me everything you know of the witches."

A sigh. No doubt a sign of relief against the building tension between us three, "I only know what I've been told, and I've never dared ask them for confirmation."

"You've met them."

"We have a few on our side of the fence, not many. Most of them are Whisperers, not fighters, but they help when we are so spread out, to keep in touch with the other leaders."

My blood ran cold, an itch at the nape of my neck. Ichigo laughed, "Don't worry, Princess. They aren't in your mind. Though, a part of me wishes they were. I'd pay good money to learn only a few of the things living inside that pretty head."

I turned my full gaze to him, and a smile, wicked and delighted, grew on Bonnie's face as I purred, "Careful what you wish for, Soldier Boy. For whoever is mad enough to enter my mind, might never find their way out again."

I gave Ichigo credit for how long it took his stare to break. He looked to his leader and gave her a nasty glare. "Don't act like you've never thought about it."

She barked out a cackle in response, "Sure, but I'd never be stupid enough to actually mention it."

I hauled my legs over the side of the bed, breathing through clenched teeth as I rose. The pain mostly subsided once I straightened, and I noted with a hint of glee- which I quickly masked- that walking gave me no pain at all.

"Help me bathe," I ordered over my shoulder as I passed between them. The marble floor of the bathing chamber was cool against my bare feet, and I welcomed the familiar scent of jasmine and lavender as I began to fill the tub.

Their voices carried, quiet and pointed, and they spoke for a moment, long enough for the bath to fill half way, and then I heard a thump and a growl before the squeaks of rushing boots and a slammed door.

I turned to see the victor of the debate, and found Bronze, back pressed to the door, hand not yet fallen from the knob. I gave a slight nod before turning away again.

I winced as I loosed my arms from their sleeves, the fabric bit into the still healing sores and made me see white. I was silently cursing my inability to even remove my shirt properly, when Bronze spoke, "I should warn you," She began, and I gave her a glance over my shoulder. "That I prefer the company of women. I don't know if that might change how you view me, or if it makes you rethink asking for my assistance in this matter, but I felt you should know."

I watched her only a moment more, before shaking my head, looking forward with a humored huff, "It makes no difference to me." I pulled the shirt over my head, tossing it away. I was struggling with the tight pants my new maid had helped me into this morning, and I barked out a curse, nearly losing my balance- and I would have plummeted to the ground if Bronze hadn't suddenly been there to steady me.

Her face was conflicted, her eyes clouded. She released me once my feet were once again sturdy beneath me. "Is such a thing uncommon in Bellator?" I questioned, attempting to determine the cause of her hesitation.

"No. In fact it's as common as any male and female relationship."

"Then why feel the need to clarify it with me?"

That darkness returned to her face, as she helped me sit on the golden lip of the tub. She leaned down to untie the laces of my shiny boots, "You are not Bellatorian." My jaw clenched. "And I don't mean for that to sound harsh. It's just that, this city is strange to me in many ways. Most things un-blinked at in Bellator, would be seen as scandalous here. It is hard for me to keep sense of it all."

I considered it, as I slipped my pants down my legs. "Well, I have never heard of a scandalous same-sex courtship here, and there have been many. You have nothing to fear."

"I think the king might have a very different opinion." I could hear, not only the slight anger in her tone, but the small fear what his opinion could potentially do to her- or anyone who shared her tastes in partners.

"The king is a demented person. He enjoys making people suffer, he did long before either of us were born, and that sickness will probably remain long after we are gone. But even he wouldn't care who you entertain yourself with. You don't get to choose the ones you love, only truly heartless creatures who have never known love would believe otherwise."

The clouds in the sea of her eyes cleared, as she looked up at me from her kneeled position. I was not sure if it was the weight of those too old eyes, or the tender smile she allowed to show, but I patted her head, her copper hair soft beneath my rough skin. That smile changed slightly, and I rose before I could analyze the spark that lit in those eyes.

I stepped into the tub. The water scalding hot, due to my distraction, yet I enjoyed the slight burn. Sinking deep into it, until my hair soaked and the water overtook my chin. The scabs now overlapping my back seemed to sizzle, growling at me silently for making them endure the heat. I ignored them.

Bronze allowed me to sit there for a few minutes, either not knowing what to say, or enjoying the silence. The only sound the ripples making their way through the water at the soft movement of my breathing.

I sat up, pushing my dripping hair back, reaching towards the many bottles of soaps. I studied them, I repaid her condor with one of my own, "I have always demanded a variety of different scents. Each day, when I bathe, I look upon all my selections, and determine the mask I will wear that day- all depending on which soap I choose." I ran my finger over the beautiful glass bottle, fingering the fraying label. "Lavender; will I be calm, a flowing river that never angers." My fingers shifted to the next, "Jasmine; will I be youthful, a creature that thrives in the night. Rosemary; will I be bold, a warrior thriving and unapologetic." I did not touch the last bottle, did not say its name. "They are all bits and pieces of all the parts I play. I rub the scent into my skin. I imagine them seeping into the bones beneath and changing them- altering them into what the day will need them to be. I have never once looked at these bottles and wished for their scents to change, I have never wondered if they could, one day, mean something different." My hand slipped down, back into the murky water. "Perhaps, that is my curse. To look at things as they are, and never hope they could be more."

"That's bullshit."

I looked to her, and found her expression hard, determined.

"I don't claim to know you better than you know yourself. And maybe you lack the ability to look at sheeted steel and wonder if you could shape it into something different. Maybe you look at the hell around you and accept that it is all you will ever get. But none of that matters to me- and it shouldn't to you. Because you looked at a boy, broken where no one could see and saw a king's guard. Because you looked at a girl, naked and bleeding and saw someone who needed to be saved. You looked at the tears on her face and the worthlessness in her soul and saw a slumbering warrior beneath. So no, you don't look at soaps and wonder if they could mean nothing when you rub them on your skin, but you look at wounded, broken people and see all the changes you wish you'd had the chance to make within yourself. And I think that says far more about you than these soaps ever could."

I've read that you will always appear different to others than how you appear to yourself. That you can look in the mirror everyday of your life and not truly know what you look like. I'd always wondered if that were true, and her words made me wish it was. But I had also heard all the words whispered as I passed by courtiers and citizens, words like bastard, murderer, slave, and that was what I saw in the mirror each day. Though Bronze looked at me and saw something else, perhaps she saw what was so far beneath the skin and the bones and the hate, perhaps… perhaps.

I scooped my hair over a shoulder, running my fingers through the tangled mess. She reached over and overtook the task, sweeping it back with a slight tug, beckoning me to sit back while she went to work on it. I laid in the tub, the water growing less warm as she combed my hair, her hands careful but sure.

"Tell me more about the Whisperers," I said, her soothing strokes nearly luring me to sleep.

She went into detail, as she finished brushing and moved on to cleaning. She told me how their magic worked. Potions needed to be consumed if they were to get clear thoughts from a great distance. She told me they could not enter where they had not been invited, though they could sometimes force their way into a mind weak of will. She told me that she herself had taken such a potion before leaving Bellator, and that it had tasted like apples and smelt of tricks. She said that she was now bonded with the Whisperer who'd made the tonic, that sometimes, late at night her own sense of self seemed to slip away and she would see through the eyes of that witch, see her home through strangers eyes.

I asked if she knew when the Whisperer was inside her head, asked if she could choose which thoughts the witch could see. She had paused, long and heavy, and reminded me that such magic was as old as time itself, and had grown stronger by each passing moon. "Some days, there are so many voices inside my head that I forget who I am, I lose sight of which thoughts are my own. I think the witch is the same, sometimes, she takes a memory from me, as if plucking a flower from a garden, I feel it leave me and enter her. She always returns them, replanting them with wilting petals. And she tells me she thought it was her own, that she was revisiting a part of her own past, and realized too late the person in the memory was me. I don't believe she means to take the things I'm not willing to give, but thoughts are an easy thing to steal."

She went on to tell me how, if the connection with your Whisperer is strong enough, if the waves of your mind are similar, the witch can even take your body as her own for a short while. She said she's never seen such a thing happen, and knew it would never happen for her, but she'd been told what it felt like, by someone she trusted.

"The night we took you from the balcony, when we broke what little trust you might have had in us, it was not Ichigo who watched. Not him who carried you to the warehouse." I recalled the way his face had shifted, how his body had morphed and had suddenly held itself foreignly. I could remember the voice that left his lips and had known even then that it had not sounded right. "I knew he would not have accepted such a tactic, and I betrayed him that night as much as you. He did not mind taking the punishment you gave him, yet things between us have been tense ever since."

"The witch he is bonded to, she is here within the walls?"

"She was, but I sent her away with the others. Witches can sniff each other out like dogs, and the risks outweighed the rewards."

I nodded, "I think I have discovered who my father has been seeking his help from. A few weeks ago a strange woman entered his inner circle, I have seen her only once but there was a sense of wrongness about her I haven't been able to shake."

"Do you know which coven she belongs to?" Her voice was strong but her hands shook.

"I don't know enough about the clans to establish such an important factor. Though, I swore I felt her pushing images into my mind, yet what you've told me of your Whisperers suggest she shouldn't be allowed in."

I felt her body shift as she shook her head, "All witches have that ability. They can influence actions by showing you clips of a certain course, but they can not see the effects their pushes have made. What did she show you?"

My body ran cold, despite the warm water, "My death."

Her fingers falter, only by a second. "Surely just a way to scare you, to keep you leashed…" I could feel the question rise in her, "How did it happen?"

I remembered very vividly, as if it had already happened, I could still feel the phantom blade. "Stabbed by a betrayers blade," My pruned fingers moved up to my left shoulder blade, where the dagger had pierced just below, the strike meant for my heart. To stop it from ever beating again. "Killed from behind like a thief in the night."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you have me now, to watch your back from such cowardly attacks." She pushed my shoulder lightly, telling me to dip my head under the water, and I did so quickly, so she could not see the effect such simple words had on me.

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 _ **A weighing chapter, more meant as a lead up.**_

 _ **But I hope you enjoyed it either way.**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**_Oh boy have I had a week. With my injury finally healed up to near perfect, and going back to work I havent had much time to write and I greatly apologize._**

 ** _Rest assured that I have every intention to see this story to its bitter end. Please be patient with me!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters_**

 ** _Let's get on with it!-_**

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"We need to ensure this witch of the king's isn't a Steel-Blood." Bronze stressed when I resurfaced.

I rubbed my face roughly, pushing my soaking hair back, "And how do we do that?"

She considered it, plopping her chin into her waiting palm. "You said you met her just the once?" I nodded. "Steel-Bloods have a reputation for picking fights. Especially, when they're feeling confined. I can't imagine she'd leave you alone for long, given your own reputation."

There it was again, the thumping in my blood that set my own body on fire. "Have you ever seen one fight?"

A shake of that red hair, "Not in this lifetime."

"So I'm suppose to wait for this legendary, century old warrior to seek me out. And then just hope for the best?"

"You've faced worse odds." I struck her with a glare, and she threw her hands up, "Fine, I'll do a little more digging. Hopefully she hasn't been worried about covering her tracks."

Bronze held out a towel as I rose, water splashing over onto the floor. I wrapped myself up, all the while thinking of that woman. I had not been thinking of her as a potential opponent then. Looking back I had been overcome with a shock I forgot I could feel. I could not remember her height, or how she stood. All I could remember was the pale of her skin and the dress that hugged her like it was made from her own skin.

And the thought of her now sent chills up my spine.

Ichigo was gone when I exited the bathing room, the balcony doors still thrown open like he had left in an aggravated tantrum. I grinned at the thought, pausing to stare out into the city for a moment before moving to dress alone.

Bronze whistled low and deep when she took me in, "Should you be wearing the armor? Your back is still healing."

I rolled my shoulders gently, the soft clink of silver against silver sounding like sweet music to my ears. "You should never baby your body after an injury, Bonnie. It makes it expect comfort from you always."

Yet, she was right, my back was screaming, begging me to remove all the excess weight my armor and _Vladimir_ was adding to its still recovering muscles. I tossed aside their painful begs. And I hide the shaking of my shoulders well.

Bronze followed me down the hall, not once saying a word. She followed, one step behind me with her head held high, and anyone who looked our way would never believe she didn't belong.

And when I reached the last narrow hallway leading straight into the Center, I expected her to shrink away like Ichigo would have. To dissolve into nothing without a word. And some part of me thought maybe the only reason she didn't was because she knew it was what I expected of her. Then, when I glanced back at her over my quivering shoulder, I saw her expression of pure excitement, and realized it was not at all that she wanted to shock me, but instead that she wanted to see for herself what I had planned to do.

I would have to try not to disappoint her.

Men fighting had always been very interesting to me.

The way they threw themselves at each other, no thoughts, no plans. Just unbridled rage and an unspoken need to make one another bleed. I had learned long ago that, when fighting men, there would always be pride woven into their every strike. Most men did not fight for anything, did not have a purpose that drove them forward, all they had was that pride. Win, lose- it was all the same. The pride remained.

I enjoyed taking that pride from my enemies. Had enjoyed reaching into their chests and ripping it out of them. One sliver at a time.

And standing on the highest landing overlooking the Center, staring down on that very pride overtaking the large space, the fights that had turned men's bodies bloody and bruised, I could feel that same enjoyment rise within me. Felt it with every piece of my broken body as I drew Vladimir. He sang as he emerged, like he was also happy to be free from his restraints.

I slammed his blade down, the sound of his silver blade clanging against the metal railing- once, twice, thrice- it echoed in the silence that followed.

It took some time for all their eyes to find me, but I was patient.

When I had the attention of the room, I sheathed Vladimir once again at my back, and leaned forward, the railing smooth against my hands, "There has been some questions rising in your barracks. Regarding the rumors that your final task has been moved up. And I am here to tell you that those rumors ring truth." A murmur through the crowd, "The king has reason to believe a rebellion has started in The Inbetween, and now has need of as many soldiers as he can get his hands on. The sooner your tasks are complete the sooner he can send you out to fight and die for him."

I did not let myself look at Sam.

"I have advised against such strategy but your king has elected to ignore my counsel. And so, now your lives have been taken from my hands and been thrust into your own. What you do now will determine the path you will lead."

I turned, not continuing until I had reached the stairs, "Will that path be bathed in the blood of your enemies," Wicked smirks appeared on most, "And the blood of the all innocents who stood in your way?" The smirks faded. "Will you walk down the streets of this city with a target on your back that only grows larger beyond the wall? Will you step on the heads of all those below you, casting shadows over them. Soaking up all the warmth the sun has to offer."

Clearing the stairs, I strolled casually toward the far wall, so thoroughly covered in spears and bows. I took my time picking a weapon.

Manipulation can be an easy thing.

Usually isolation is the most effective, but it can work well in groups if you take your time. The worst thing you could do is rush your speaking, your actions. It gives the recipient too much time to think back on your words. Too much time to properly think through their emotions. Pace yourself, allow yourself to keep a calm and relaxed posture.

I picked up a particularly long spear, running my fingertips over the delicate, integral patterns carved into the wood. I could feel their eyes on me, not as skilled yet in detection, minds too young to look past the surface. I used such youth, lifting my chin, feeling my neck stretch. And instantly I felt their attention shift from my harsh words, and to the slender curve of my jaw. Even Hisagi's teeth clenched, as he tried to bite down the undoubtedly conflicting emotions bubbling in his adolescent mind. I've never understood the attraction men have towards a woman's neck.

"I have been to war," A long real pause, as I struggled past my very real demons. The silence was heavy, as I had intended it. "A war I fought just after my tasks were complete. Sam and I left our homes with nothing but our newly heard Silver Blades. We bled for the safety of these walls. we _earned_ the silver. I have no doubt you will all thrive as we have." I looked to Sam then, and his face was just as I knew it would be. His mind back on those dirt fields filled with the bodies of our squad mates. "Although, thinking back, seventeen of us had entered that war and only three had returned…"

It pained me to speak so casually about it. To use their deaths to my advantage, but I could see the words seep into the young boys before me, seep into them like my bath soaps. Changing them.

Good.

I wanted them to know. To understand that these were not just words. This was the reality that would soon be upon them. This was the path they had chosen the moment they stepped into this very room. And not all of them could survive it.

"And so you will train harder than you ever have before. Until your body has nothing left to give. Until your very soul quivers with exhaustion, and then," I mirrored my father's smile. The one that made my stomach turn and my skin itch. I knew I had masked myself well by the flash in Sam's eyes. "Then, I will send you out to the crows. And let Morta take her pick."

They all jumped, even Bronze still up on her high balcony, as I slammed the point of the beautiful spear into the ground, "Now take a lap. No one stops until their feet bleed."

They scurried like chickens, pushing one another out of their way. And through them I saw Hisagi, hesitating as he watched me. I met his eyes across feet and bodies and he did not back down, it had only been a week since I'd last seen him, yet somehow, even with the distance between us I could see how tall he'd grown. He would certainly tower over me now.

Juanca appeared at his side, and nudged him along by the shoulder, and only then did our eyes break. He fell in with the others, his body becoming indecipherable from his comrades.

They were already two laps in before Sam approached. By his posture I could tell he was not pleased, but he knew better than to question me where the men could hear. He waited until they were clear across the Center, "You think scaring them will make them turn?"

"I wasn't trying to scare them." I scoffed.

Sam opened his mouth and then bit his tongue as the recruits drew nearer. Once they'd passed he hissed out in a questioning tone, "And saying you'll feed them to the crows?"

"Some facts can be scary, my dear commander."

"But I thought-"

"Patience."

He rubbed roughly at his mouth, and I could hear his teeth grind in his simmering annoyance. I could feel the heat from his body rise, along with his unruly temper. "What the hell is she doing here?"

I glanced to where he was already glaring. Bonnie was not trying to hide her presence, and she certainly didn't pretend to miss Sam's clear distaste. She watched us from her position, perched on the railing. She even gave Sam a little smile and a mocking wave.

I nearly choked on my retort, "I didn't ask."

He didn't take his eyes off her, "I don't like it."

I turned to him, not feeling the need to call his attention to me, "You don't need to like it. Have you done what I asked?"

He slid back, finally returning his eyes to me. I knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth, "The bastard wouldn't let me in."

Resenting the word, I chewed on my lip. A shining knight appears on the board. With Sam now at my back I only had one person standing between me and the king.

Devon.

There was a reason my father kept him close. Blind loyalty is a necessity to any court. A war could be won on the back of one loyal soldier, and Clark would never believe me to be unquestionably loyal. I could forgive it due to my current circumstances. If Clark was not with me then Devon was always close behind, and it had always been a relief to me, but now…

A problem that could wait. "I suppose she'll sniff me out soon enough."

"I'll find a way in." I could tell the failure was weighing on him. But I was not in the mood to play pick me up.

"Do or don't, it makes little difference." I remarked, truthfully and Sam clicked his tongue.

I returned my attention to the task at hand. I hadn't been keeping count but I was sure the boys were now nearing their tenth lap, I watched them move. Somehow they were still too slow; almost sluggish in their movements. I wasn't sure whether or not it was from a lack of endurance or merely the heavy thoughts I'd planted like seeds weighing them down. It mattered not. For either would work well for me.

"They seem slower than usual." I said to Sam loud enough for them to hear as they passed before us. "Has my absence made you forget the Tasks ahead?" I hollered louder, my words echoing along with their quickening footsteps.

I threw a glance up at Bronze, looking right to where I could feel her eyes, watching. She stood tall now, her hands just barely gripping the rail before her. I held her eyes, letting the undeniable calm inside them soothe the pounding of my heart, and silence the screaming in the back of my mind.

Her head tilted, just slightly. A question and yet, somehow, a dare.

And when the recruits passed before me, breaking my contact with that smoking wildfire, I took three breaths.

One to breathe in the smell of the man beside me; a smell that reminded me of all the bad things I had done.

Another, deep and slow, to completely clear my mind of all the madness. Allowing me to enter into such a disconnected, hollow state.

And the last to fill my lungs to the brink before I took off running.

They truly were slow. So undeniably slow.

For even in my wounded state, with the familiar weight of my Silver armor constantly trying to pull my shoulders forward, like a magnet pulled to the ground, I caught up with them before they even knew I was approaching. Their unpreparedness made the next events come easier, locking it into my mind that it was a needed lesson.

I did not pull Vladimir, knowing that he was, no doubt, thirsty for blood, and I did not want to wound them long term.

Three were already down before the rest noticed me among them.

Two more dropped before any could even get their arms up.

There were seventeen left. More than plenty to overwhelm me- if they timed their attacks properly. Yet I must have expected too much of them, for they should have surrounded me. They had the numbers, the height, the speed.

But they all remained before me, arms just slightly raised in the defensive position. I let my own arms drop to my sides, dumbfounded as I watched them knit even closer together. And I could tell by their faces that they believe it the right move. And perhaps it would have been if there had been thirty of me.

I shook my head, jaw clenching tight. "Disgraceful."

I waited for the calm to break. For one of them to find the courage. And to give them a little nudge I kept my arms down, hanging loosely at my sides.

Hisagi, to my surprise, charged first.

I took all of one step towards him, ducked under his swing and swept his legs out from under him and he scorpion dived straight into the ground, his long legs bending over his head. But I silently applauded him as I straightened once more, just in time for the rest of his comrades to follow his brave lead.

Fighting men. Truly reckless creatures.

I swerved to avoid the first fist, barely having to adjust my footing to do so. His brawny body couldn't stop as he rushed past me, tripping on Hisagi, half hunched over, they both crashed hard. Ducking fast as thin arms lunged for me from the side, I cupped my left fist in my palm, and swung my elbow with all the strength of my upper body directly into his soft stomach, he had no air left as that same elbow cracked up against his slacked jaw. He hadn't even finish falling when I swung my arms back, practically propelling my body forward, lifting my right leg to connect with a solid kick to another faceless man's chest.

Not at all learning from their companions mistakes, three more left their legs wide open, making it all too easy for me to force their entire bodies off balance with a carefully placed scoop of my foot.

Juanca came close to getting his arms around me from behind, but he miscalculated the burliness of my armor, it caused his hand to slip, basically falling off my shoulder, I gripped that wrist and twisted, shoving my shoulder up into his dipped armpit and slammed him over my shoulder into the waiting boy already wounded before me.

It all took only half a minute.

I rushed out a breath as Juanca winced, rolling off the other fallen soldier with a harsh thud.

"One year." I began, with a tone as quiet as my conscience. "You have trained everyday in this room, with warriors far your senior. You have surpassed countless others on the road to this moment. To the moment you realize how very unprepared you are. To the moment you accept the death your decisions have brought you. Most of you are older than I am. All of you are taller; bigger. And yet, with fifty lashes on my back and fifteen pounds of silver slowing me down, you have all fallen." They wouldn't look at me, choosing instead to look to the ground, to their laps, or clenched fists. I clicked my tongue, huffing in real disappointment, "None of you belong here."

My words hung, heavy in the air. I counted to five, "Take this opportunity to defect, with no consequences. Pack up your things and leave tonight. Go home to your mothers, and nurse your wounds. I have a war to fight, and I would rather fight it alone than with such liabilities at my back."

I stepped away from the circle of their bodies, not even once looking back. You could have heard a pin drop.

And it wasn't until I turned to see that Sam had vanished-perhaps finding it hard to watch, or maybe just not wanting to hear yet another ruthless Heir speech- that I felt the impact of my words. Knowing, full-well, what their consequences would bring me.

Bronze was gone when I looked up, Ichigo appearing in her place.

He did not smile.

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 _ **Thank you for reading! And once again thank you for my long breaks between chapters.**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**_Hello everyone! Very quick update for you, but also a very short one._**

 ** _This is definitely a lead up chapter but I still felt it should end where it did. I am already at work on the next chapter and should have it up within the next few days!_**

 ** _Thank you so much for your loyalty and patience with this story._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of it's characters_**

 ** _Here we go!-_**

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I collapsed against the wall when I was out of sight of the Center. My hands shook as I braced them against the smooth stone to steady myself. Keeping my head down I blink a few times, trying, and failing, to clear the dark spots in my vision.

My heart felt slow and heavy in my chest, every strained beat echoing through my entire body. Making my skin feel like it was pulsing against my spasming muscles.

I cursed under my breath.

I was of no use to anyone in this state. When I could barely get out of bed, and come near to collapse after one easily won battle. If the woman in black found me anytime soon, all these years of training would get me no where. I would be dead within a beat of my own weak heart.

Gritting my teeth, I straightened. The world, thank the Gods, stayed still, but just to be safe, I kept one hand braced on the wall as I continued walking.

I would give myself one more week to heal, hopefully I had that much time.

"You know, I would have thought someone who has survived so many battles and wars would have a higher sense of self preservation."

"If I had any sense of self preservation I would have butchered you and your friends the moment we met."

Ichigo considered it, "Fair point." He thought harder on it as he stepped up behind me. "You mentioned that you were sixteen when the Southern rebellion began… I've read all sorts of counts of those crusades, and, though I wasn't there, they painted a pretty vivid picture.

I winced and leaned closer to the wall, sneering, "Can I expect a point to be made?"

I could feel the heat from his palm, not quite touching me, as Ichigo reached out a stable hand. He must have thought better of it, for the heat disappeared only seconds later. "How _did_ you survive? Sixteen years old, fresh out of bootcamp, and all alone in an army of Northerners."

I stopped walking.

"I have a knack for sneaking where I'm not allowed. Your father's war records were hard to find, so preciously tucked into his private office, but it seems to have been worth it. Why did he send you away to the trenches while Sam and Devon sat warm and fed by his side miles away from any battles?"

"A good soldier goes where they're told. I never felt the need to ask."

"Not even when your legion was directly attacked in the dead of night? Or when all 3,000 died in the shitstorm that followed? You were the only survivor weren't you? Your father's records pronounced you MIA. Likely dead and buried in a mass grave somewhere far south… Until, of course, you strolled up to the gates of Lockhorn, dressed in chains and rags, and burned the whole city to the ground."

I could still smell the smoke, I could feel the ashes fall onto my skin. The screams and the blood. I remembered it all.

"You could have gone anywhere, become someone completely new. But you came back… and gave three severed heads to your father as a returning gift." A self proclaimed King, his Crowned Prince and loyal General. One for every thousand. "Why? Why come back at all."

"Even a beaten dog loves its owner."

"The fact that you're even talking to me, knowing what you know, proves otherwise."

I huffed a chuckle, "What is it you expect me to say? That I have some righteous reason for coming back here? That everything I've done has been apart of a grand scheme that I have been plotting for years? I burned that city down because I wanted to. I cut off their heads because it pleased me to do so. And I have become the Iron Fist of the West because it is who I was born to be." I looked over my shoulder, meeting his stare, before continuing, "I am not the person you believe me to be, I have said as such since the very beginning. Accept the things you read in that file, or don't. Look at me as your savior, your princess, it means nothing at all to me. But just remember that I have been protecting myself my entire life, and when it all comes down to it, I will cut off as many heads as necessary to ensure mine stays precisely where it is. And that includes yours."

Damning the blurred vision, screwing the unsteady ground beneath my feet, I stood tall, letting all contact with the wall to cease, and strolled down the hall, looking to all the world that I was centered and proud, all the while I shrunk inside.

Ichigo waited for me to take ten steps before he took even one.

Somehow I had let myself forget the trenches. Forget the Northerners and my time within their ranks. It swam now. Up from the depths of the sea within me. The size of a whale, pushing against my insides, threatening to burst me apart from the inside out. Why must everything feel so heavy in a moment like this? Why must my body quiver and shake in strain, right when I needed it the most.

It shouldn't shock me that Ichigo had gone searching for more about my time in war. I was to play a big part in what was to come, and if the roles were reversed I would have studied up on him, as well. Whether he planned to share all he had learned from my father's files was yet to be known. And, of course, I had ruined my chance at learning more.

If i had simply kept my mouth shut, Ichigo could have spoon fed me the information in bursts. All the while thinking _he_ was pulling information out of _me_. I had let his words get to me, to bring up old memories buried at the bottom of the dark sea. He was not likely to share much more now, after my outburst. A foolish mistake.

I had so many other things to think about. Time pressing, life threatening things.

I had not seen Clark since that night in my chambers, and I needed to seek him out. Relationship strained as it was I needed to put my claws into the strategy of the upcoming battles. I was his General after all, if I kept too much distance, like I desperately wanted, things would seem off. People would look too closely. And my back was not yet healed. I needed time.

Ichigo had been to my father's office before, evidently, and he slowed when he noticed the direction my steps were leading us. And when I reached the door he was so far behind he was out of my line of sight. I knocked twice. Though i pretty much pounded my fist against the door. It relieved some of the tension from my shoulders.

I saw Ichigo peek his head around the corner, and I jerked my head to the side and he just stared blankly at me. I was about to face him more firmly when I heard a very quiet voice usher me to enter. I kept my eyes on Ichigo's half hidden form as I pushed the door open, making sure to shut it fully so he could not overhear. I debated locking it when something rolled over in my stomach.

The stench had lingered in my mind for weeks.

I whirled, and found her standing five feet in front of me. Her smile looking more like a snake opening its jaws to devour me whole.

The woman in black.

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 ** _A bit obvious I suppose, but oh well._**

 ** _Orihime is in the wolf's den!_**

 ** _Please review and let me hear what you think about it! I love every review I get._**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

_**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.**_

 _ **Alright here we go!-**_

* * *

She looked as beautiful as I remembered her to be. Though this time, much more of her was exposed to me. Her dress was less of a dress and more of a thing held together by lace and pure luck. Her breast were encased in an integrate piece of leather, with straps of shiny black that criss crossed over her chest and wove up to wrap around her slender throat. The skin of her stomach, as creamy as milk, was nearly entirely bare, save for the small straps that connected her top to her long sheer skirt that hugged her hips and thighs so tightly I wondered if she could even walk. It seemed even witches felt modesty, for she also wore a long robe, though you could still see the glow of her pale skin beneath the pitch black lace.

She did not move as I looked her wardrobe over, and it took me far too long to feel embarrassed by her attire and the thought of why she was wearing such revealing garments. Here, in my father's study.

Though, thankfully, Clark was nowhere to be seen.

"General," She spoke, her voice so soft yet felt like slugs worming into my ears. "I have been waiting for us to run into one another." That sparked my interest, remembering Bronzes words regarding the witch covens. "I was beginning to worry that you were avoiding me after our awkward encounter in the dining hall."

I counted my breathing, did not let my hands move an inch at my sides. "I wasn't aware you were still here to avoid. So much has happened since our first meeting, I've simply been very busy."

"Ah, yes. How is the back healing?" Her teeth seemed to shine as she smiled modestly.

I would not clench my jaw, I would not pause. "Very well, thank you for your concern."

"It truly was a shame," She sulked, and I opened my mouth to defend my father's actions, when she cut me off. "But, Clark promised me that, next time, he'll let me watch."

I stumbled. A very small, barely noticeable slip. Though her eyes widened just slightly, telling me without words that she had seen. And had enjoyed every millisecond. This woman seemed to know exactly who I was, and how I handled things. And I felt an itch at the back of my neck I didn't dare scratch. The amusement on her cold face brought the words out of me, "Only if I allow you to live long enough."

She smiled again, and then pursed her lips slightly, "Are we dropping the cordial Ladies act, already? I had so many passive remarks planned."

"I don't make it a habit of conversing with witches."

"No, but you will." She stepped towards me, her long robe flowing out behind her on a phantom wind.

 _Don't you dare cower._

"You will do a great many things you thought you'd never do. Though," She paused right in front of me, so close I nearly gagged at the stench. She thought for a moment, "none of them will alter what is to come. You have locked onto your course, Orihime Inoue, and even your Gods could not change it, though try they will."

I didn't allow the words to sink in, I didn't let myself ask the questions that rose inside me. "You speak of years in the future… I wonder what that means for you?"

The witch laughed, "Oh my dear, do not worry about my fate. I am more durable than you'd like to imagine." That didn't sound promising.

She looked me over, eyeing the Silver Armor with a knowing smile. She moved slightly and I locked my feet in place, casually steadying my frame. But she did not move to attack but instead to observe.

She circled me, so slowly it was almost painful. Her fingers grazed the hair draping down my back, sweeping it like a curtain. Though she was careful not to make contact with anything else. "You were a man in your past life," She stated as if reading it from a book, "Strong and sturdy. A warrior much like you are now. Though the man you were before, lived in a time far later than our own. In a culture that does not yet exist." She leaned forward behind me her lips soft against the hollow of my throat. I stayed still. I needed her to keep talking, to keep telling me what she could and couldn't do. "He died young too. In a conquered land. Taken for a woman who did not want to be had, destroyed for the pride of men like you. You had fought for love, and then had died for it. Poetic, I think."

"This land you speak of, in a culture not yet known… I wonder if the witch covens survive long enough to see it." She stepped away, resurfacing again in front of me. Witches liked everyone to believe they were immortal, that they were Goddesses walking the earth that could never be killed, but while they live far longer than any human lifespan, they too would one day die. But their magic comes at a deep price, "It is known that witches don't get multiple lives, only one very long one. So when I was fighting and dying for love, you must have already been swimming in the sorrow of the underworld for thousands of years. Don't worry, I'm sure Hades isn't as cruel as history paints him."

Her upper lip raised in a sneer. She didn't seem to like her own mortality being thrown in her face. It was my turn to grin.

She moved to lunge, likely to rip my throat out, but the door opened and a copper head popped in. We both watched closely as the man came into full view, leaving the door slightly open beside him.

I turned to watch her face as the witch looked at Ryley. Her eyes became slightly dark and glazed, her lips opening just slightly, and then the next second she was alert once more. She looked at me and then back to Ryley, realization seeming to dawn on her face, and then the demon witch threw her head back and laughed.

So deep and guttery, from so deep inside her it was clear she had no power over it. Her hands clenched her stomach as a small tear fell from her eye.

I growled, knowing she saw who Ryley was inside his head. She laughed harder, and my hand flinched, aching more than life itself to draw _Vladimir_ and plunge it deep into that bubbling stomach. The mocking at my forced marriage mingled in with every giggle set my whole body on fire.

 _I would kill her. I would destroy her. I'd demolish her._

No.

I couldn't let her inside my head. I needed to stay clear minded and maintain my aloofness.

Turning on my heel I stalked to my fiancee, who seemed almost frozen. Likely a response to the prodding of the witch inside his mind. I gripped him by the arm and dragging him out of the room.

"Be sure to keep that armor close to your chest, Orihime!" The witch hollered, followed by more intense laughter that trailed us all the way down the hall.

* * *

I ushered Ryley down the hall, trying to keep my pace even and unrushed.

"Who was that woman?" Ryley asked, innocently. Though I could detect a slight quiver inside that calm facade. It seemed even someone as ill equipped could detect the incredible maliciousness that woman radiated out.

How to answer such a question… Truthfully, I did not know, myself. But that was not what gave me pause. Ryley, while kind, was not an ally. Not in the new sense I found myself needing. He had given me an almost oath, same as Sam's, but less concrete; less binding. Swearing he would punish my father for what he had done to me. But I knew nothing about Ryley or his seriousness when it came to such promises.

"The king's newest conquest, no doubt." I answered, safely. Not an entire truth, yet also not an outright lie.

"She acted very… familiar with you."

I rolled my eyes, with an annoyed tone replying, "Most strangers do."

I glanced sideline at his face, wondering if, perhaps, he would sense the underlying meaning in those words. My eyes were back on the hall ahead when he turned halfway towards me. "Do you meet with all kinds of people?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what exactly is your role in your father's affairs? Are you apart of all his decisions?"

I cleared my throat to hide the scoff, "Not usually."

"Even though you're Heir?"

I watched the way his eyes flickered at the word, noted the slight edge to his tone and how his footsteps landed heavier. "Well, there are a few things I have a hand in. He will sometimes come to me for guidance on certain things, though that is very rare."

"What kind of guidance?"

"Strategy. Movements of our foreign troops. Where they are versus where they should be. My king took the throne at a very young age, and was not General for long before he ascended the dais. And those few years he commanded were times of peace."

Ryley paused, "Are you skilled in strategy?"

I debated how to answer, "As much as can be expected from someone trained in such things."

"Have you ever played chess?"

 _Every damn day of my life._ "I use to play a lot, when I was young."

Nonali loved the game, and had somehow convinced me to play with him. Though, I could have never hoped to beat him. We had played everyday for two years, and I had never won. He had a way of predicting precisely what I would do. And he had a plan for every move I made. Our games would go very quickly.

"We should play together. I haven't had an opponent in months- even before leaving home. My brothers were never interesting in playing, not that I'd have wanted to face their military minds."

I pushed down the slight insult but there was still a slight edge to my tone, "And yet you wish to face me?"

He grinned, sheepishly. "I meant no disrespect, of course. I know you would probably beat me within a few moves. My brothers all spoke so highly of your cunning mind that I was surprised when I found you had grown into such a beautiful woman. They are usually more vocal about those sorts of things."

Yes, I had met all four of Ryleys older brothers during the war and of course when I had trained those few months with my betrothed in the North when we were still unaware of our joined future. They all shared his looks, with dark hair and dark eyes but I had formed a high respect for them while in the South. Ryley had been born eight years after Brandt, the fourth born, and Lucas had gotten old by his last sons birth. And could not find the strength to be harsh and warrior like towards his youngest. Because of such Ryley had been raised with kisses and warmth by his mother.

But his brothers… I was hesitant to admit I had admired his eldest brother, Cuyler when I was a girl, long before I became Heir. And, while I had forgotten what it was like to be attracted to a male in the years that followed my time in the pits, the Southern Rebellion had almost reminded me.

"Though, I should have guessed when a few even voiced anger when it was _me_ my father chose to wed you."

I started at that, my head whipping around. I had not realized it had been a real choice for his father to make. My mouth opened, about to ask which of his handsome brothers had protested, but then shut it, tightly. It made no difference, and I was not some love struck teenager who cared about the handsome warriors wishing for my hand in marriage.

I mentally struck myself for even feeling that small pride, while I should have been angry at the thought of being sold like cattle. Bartered over like some shiny toy to be played with. "They no doubt buried that disappointment with ale and women."

Ryley laughed lowly with something like slumbering bitterness, "Maybe ale, but they seemed pretty sober when they cornered me the night before I was to leave."

Shocked, I barked, "They beat you?"

Ryley quickly waved his hands before him, "No, never." As if I was crazy to even think such a thing, "They were more suspicious about how I was chosen. I don't even know myself."

I did.

Ryley had no military training. He had no real claim to the North unless all four of his brothers were to die young, without leaving behind their own heirs. And I was Heir to the Capitol, so my husband would clearly be forced to live with me within the city walls. Cuyler was Heir to the North. Elof was General and second in line. Garth was Commander of the Nightwolves. And Brandt was the most skilled bowman in any corner of the world. Four powerful heirs. Four protectors of the North.

Within that mix of powerhouses, Ryley was expendable.

Terrible but true.

I wondered which son would have given to me if Ryley had also been trained in combat. I wondered if they would have expected me submit to them. To bow.

I pushed the thought away. I had decided the moment my knees touched marble, that I would never bow again.

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 _ **.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_

 _ **Please let me know what you thought!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

_**I hope this came quick enough for everyone!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.**_

 _ **Lets jump right in-**_

* * *

"I must say, it is a relief to see you out and about." Ryley cut into my simmering silence. "Especially with the ball approaching so quickly, now I won't have to face the world leaders alone." He laughed.

"Ball?"

He glanced at me, eyes wide, "Your father wishes for our union to be blessed by the Cardinal Leaders during the full moon… Did I forget to mention that?" I nodded. "Sorry- just with everything going on,"

"Don't worry about it." I muttered slowly, my brows scrunching together.

Blessed by the Cardinal Leaders? Meaning I would house them and they would drink wine and whore all night. In the old years they would all make grand speeches and bless us with a holy item from their homelands, but such a thing had, of course, turned into more of an event to appease their need for extravagant parties. Clark has never bothered to care about such ancient traditions. And the full moon was just a few short days away. Bringing all the leaders together during such a tense time of indecisive war could only complicate thing. This blessing was just an excuse to get them all here... Clark had an angle to exploit.

And this meant Kisuke would also be returning.

Mixed feelings of relief but also a deeper, more unnerving feeling of doubt. Bonnie had sent away all of her allies, for fear the woman in black would find them. And if Clark's witch turned out to be a Whisperer… Witches could smell one another, sense the magic thumping through another's blood, could they also sense the bonds certain people have with those witches?

Bronze had said Ichigo was particularly bonded with his witch, that their brains were so similar they could be formed as one for a short while, would that small magic be enough for her to smell?

My heart pounded beneath my armor, so heavy I thought it would fall into the pit of my stomach. I needed to learn more about the covens. This feeling of ignorance and being drastically uninformed was making my skin itch.

Ryley's fingers grazed that same itching skin at my wrist and I forced my body to relax the tension I hadn't realized had worked its way into my shoulders. "Hey," He said, misunderstanding my worry. "I'll be with you the whole time."

I smiled, small and genuine. It was kind… _he_ was kind. And I had been nothing but cold. Avoiding any sort of alone time and not bothering to keep up my end of the conversation. He had not chosen this, either. "I think a game of chess should help clear my hesitations. You free for a game?"

The silver in his eyes seemed to shine bright, gleaming as he grinned, "For you? Always."

* * *

The days came and left quickly. I hated how every second slowed when I wished for them to pass swiftly, but when it came to a day I dreaded, it sprung up in no time at all.

I had spent the whole day in bed, buried under the covers, hoping they would all forget I existed. But three hours before sunset my youngest maid- not a day over eighteen- delicately entered and filled my bath. I groaned when I heard her inch towards me, then felt small guilt when I heard her small gasp, peeking out from my cave to see his thin legs shaking like a newborn fawn.

It was the only reason I did not protest when she insisted she bathe me herself. She did not look into my face, keeping her head lowered. I watched her the entire time. Her face was round, her cheeks chubby and her eyes too small, but she was pretty. In a delicate sort of way.

I felt I had seen her somewhere before.

It came to me while she was combing out the knots in my hair, "You were given at the Gathering."

The girl jumped at the sound of my voice, her hands clenching, pulling a few strands from my head, I hissed.

"I'm so sorry!" She shrieked. And I shook my head in dismissal, leaning back once more. "But, yes. I was."

Her voice told me she was not very happy about it, and I understood. We had both been sold by our fathers that day. "What is your name?"

"Tatski, young Heir." She answered, faintly.

"And do you like it here, Tatski?" I knew I would not get a real, honest answer, but the question needed to be asked.

Tatski responded immediately, her tone harsher than just moments before, "It is not the life I would have chosen."

I blinked at the directness, "You had picked out a life already then?"

Sheepishness wove into her words, "No, not really. I had never put much thought into it but I had always imagined the life of a Lady to be a glorious one."

And now she was washing my hair. I suppose it would seem glamorous when looking up at the High Courts. Living within the shiny capitol with handsome suitors and large parties. I could imagine it through her eyes. I did not share it but I could see her idolism. "Believe me, Tatski, I envy your life, and would gladly reverse our circumstances."

She only nodded, either agreeing or not believing it her place to disagree.

Tatski dried me off with not even a blush, and rushed to fetch the dress I had selected for my engagement party. I stood before the mirror, waiting, stark naked. I looked myself over with unkind eyes. Not even having time to raise my lip in a sneer before Tatski returned.

She motioned for me to sit and I moved to do so quickly, only remembering my nudity when she handed me a silk robe. She moved her fingers over my scalp, her nails slightly grazing the sensitive skin, my eyes rolled back.

I must have dozed off because when my eyes opened what felt like seconds later, my hair was beautifully arranged and soft music had filled the quiet space.

It flowed down my back, unrestricted. Tatski had pulled two thick pieces away from my face and had braided them into neat, yet very complicated looking braids that tucked into the diadem of pure silver she had placed atop my head. The silver itself was as thin as wire and wove around itself in elegant curves, merging to meet the wide leaves that seemed to be grown from the tiara itself.

And my face, normally very pale to begin with, was as smooth as silk, my lips a dark and fierce red that reminded me of the color of dried blood- though i doubt that was Tatski's core motivation. Though she looked oddly smug when I glanced at her in the mirror.

"We should hurry to get you dressed, the music started a few minutes ago."

The dress itself was lovely, it was a pure white lace, that seemed even cleaner against my skin, which seemed almost tan in comparison. The neckline plunged down far enough to make my cheeks redden but the long lace sleeves made up for the exposed flesh. Delicate crystal beading and lace made up the entirety of the bodice before merging flawlessly into a long ball gown. The lace continued down past my waist, before casually disappearing. And while it was beautiful, it was not something I would have normally picked for myself.

But I had picked this dress because of its back. Or lack thereof.

The lingering scabs had flaked away and now every lash my back had taken was a smooth pink line. They glistened in the candlelight and I smiled. If I could not embrace the things I had endured, all the torturing and beatings, then I would only be allowing myself to remain plagued by them. I was tired of being imprisoned within myself.

Tatski looked me over as well, ensuring she had completed her task to her best ability. And I would say she had. For I had planned to walk into the ballroom with my pretty dress, hair resembling a bird's nest and _Vladimir_ hanging at my waist.

She gave me a barely there smile, merely a curve in the hard line of her mouth and then left the room as smoothly as she had entered.

Alone with no one but myself, I looked at myself once again.

I could barely recognize the lines of my face, or the silhouette of my body. If Bronze saw me now she would probably walk right past me and not even realize. Ichigo would smirk and say I finally looked like a proper princess.

My resolve hardening, I walked from my chambers, and down the long hallway towards where I could hear that ball had already begun. I stopped in front of the doors, putting a hand out to halt the men from opening them.

So idiotic to be nervous, but I suddenly felt so bare. Was it the absence of my weapons? Or of the usual swagger I possessed when carrying them? I felt a very abrupt respect for the woman I saw around the court, it took a certain amount of nerve to appear as your best self, knowing there would always be someone who did not like what they saw.

But I was Orihime Inoue, of two royal bloods and I would not cower. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I nodded towards the guards and the doors, heavy and creaking, opened before me.

The room, filled to the brink, grew silent as I walked in, every pair of eyes drifting to me. Each expression was different, some men looked on appreciatively, while others sneered in a knowing way. I wanted to kill them all, I wanted to rip their eyes out of their skulls and shove them down their throats. And I was not just a soldier, or a warrior, I was a woman and being that alone would give me the tools to devastate them. And while their stares made me feel completely dirty, I would have taken them over those of the women any day.

I'd fought many fights, bathed in the blood of my enemies and laughed, and yet the glaring eyes of my fellow sex seemed enough to shake my very bones.

I didn't let my discomfort show on my face, I walked confidently across the grand ball room, through the clearing they all made for me. I saw Ryley standing next to my father, dressed in the sharp colors of the North. His broad shoulders and chest encased in a black like pure night, and silver shone inside the threads, making him appear to shimmer in the light. He looked like a clear northern night.

Something about the way his eyes watched me as I walked towards him had my face flushing. I took up a place at his side. Perhaps, I should begin referring to it as _my_ place.

I felt his hand slide over the bare skin of my lower back as he leaned close, looking like he was to kiss my cheek in greeting, but his mouth was hot as he breathed into my ear, "You look spectacular."

My cheeks flamed hotter, "Thank you."

My mind floated back down to my body and I had to shake it clear, discreetly.

I sobered up instantly, as I noticed Clark's eyes fixated on us. Seeming locked on to the hand Ryley kept at my waist. And that hand was suddenly less welcomed.

My father was dressed finely, his oxblood shirt tucked neatly into his black slacks. On his shoulders- where his armor usually sat- was instead thick wolf's fur, that flowed down into a dark cape. A gift from the North, no doubt. On his head sat a crown made of gold, woven into the frame were black and red rubies as large as a silver coin. Truthfully, he looked to be my polar opposite.

Which only made me appreciate my choices even more.

"You do look lovely, Orihime." He said, halfheartedly.

I nodded in thanks, hating the acknowledgment. I had not spoken to him since that night in my bedroom, when he'd held a knife to my eye. And, somehow, this scene felt far more threatening. At least then I had known what he was planning, at least then there had been no one to watch my mutilation.

A tall man with hair as white as snow, such a contrast to his midnight skin, came up behind my father, his face seemed to be cut from stone, no emotion showing in the black of his hollow eyes. I recognized him instantly, and as those cold eyes locked in on my every move, I knew he remembered me.

Clark turned and the man's eyes slid from my face unwillingly. His voice dripped in a thick southern accent, "My king, I am sorry for our delayed arrival. My generals were overly cautions in our travels due to the recent attacks outside your walls."

"No need for apologies, the bride to be only just made her grand appearance." Clark's smile was not kind. "You remember my daughter, don't you, Santos?"

I could see a vein strain under his dark skin. I held my breath as he once again regarded me. My back straightening under Ryley's hand, my chin raising ever so slightly.

"How could I forget. How have you been, _Bewaarder van Sondes_?"

 _Keeper of Sins._ Fitting.

"I have been well, Lord Santos. And your homeland?"

"As well as could be expected. We are seeing steady progression."

I smirked, giving a mocking tilt to my head, "Yes, I've heard the crops have finally sprouted after three years of infertility." His face remained neutral, not taking the bait. Clark watched our interaction closely, switching his attention between our faces. Ryley only watched me. I wondered if he knew the cause of our hostility, or if he had not been schooled in the Southern War. "Perhaps I should make another trip down south. I'd like to see how the land has healed since my last visit."

I was being cruel, flaunting the excessive damage to their sacred earth. Earth I had turned to glass with the flames that burned down their villages and destroyed their crops, and with it their very way of life.

"We would be honored to house you." Santos purred, a rarely seen grin sweeping over his lips, "And of course we would also accept your Northern spouse as our guest. Maybe you can both come for the honeymoon, our hot springs are the best in the world. Perfect to soothe sore... _muscles._ "

I smiled politely, while Ryley's hand tensed against my skin, "The honor would be ours."

Thankfully, Clark had grown bored with our conversation, there was a small silence before he swept his cloak back with a dramatic flap. "Come Santos, let us find Kisuke and Lucas. It has been too long since we have toasted in one another's honor."

I ghosted a look around the large ball room. Too many people to count. Not enough soldiers at the exits and windows. I would need to find Devon and reprimand him for it. I spotted six escape routes before I was even done surveying the far wall.

Clark had ventured to the far left corner, his fur lined back to me. There were thirteen people close enough to kill him before he could even think to turn his head. Only seven of them wearing loose enough clothing to conceal a weapon. It would take them four steps to slit his throat, then fifty paces towards the nearest window. Only half that to the hall door, but the hall would be too hard to maneuver. Too many variables, not enough time to work through them all before a dozen soldiers were on them.

The king swung his arm out while talking, his drink splashing out on the floor in the process. He held it out for only a second before returning it in front of himself, but it would have been plenty of time for someone to stroll by and slip something into his cup. Poison would be the best option for such a packed space. Delayed enough to give the assassin time to slip away, people would first think him choking. No panic, no rushing around, no one would even see the assailant leave, walking out without ever being suspected.

I flinched when Ryley spoke again into my ear, "Dance with me?"

I flinched again, but for an entirely different reason. "I don't think you'll find me a very good partner." And I meant that in more ways than one.

He looked ecstatic, "So there is something you can't do. Thank the Gods."

I pursed my lips as he laughed, "It's not that I can't," No one had ever asked me to dance before. I always assumed it was my reputation that kept the men away, but I'm sure the fact that I usually bring my weapons to events like these and sit in a corner stalking people with my eyes did not help me any. "I've just never needed to."

Ryley clicked his tongue, "Well, there is a first time for everything. Besides, such a beautiful dress deserves to be swung around on the dance floor, don't you agree?" He took my hand lightly, barely gripping the tips of my fingers and led me out into the empty floor. He brought me close to his chest, his hand firm on my waist, tightening his hold on my hand. We stood motionless for a moment, and I looked back to the corner Clark had been inhabiting, he had not moved, but more people had gathered around him, to listen to one of his exaggerated stories. Twenty people around him, fourteen close enough to-

Ryley gave me a slight nudge with his hand. "Leave that tactical mind behind for tonight. Stay here, with me."

He moved us then. It took me a few steps to adjust to being led. Ryley was patient, not caring when I would pull away slightly while instinctively trying to lead _him_. And he would smile encouragingly when I would step on his toes, or bump my forehead against his chin. And it wasn't until the end of the second song that I felt I resembled anything close to graceful.

The music was soft, mostly harps and flutes. It was wonderful and light, just fast enough to keep me interested while I focused on my steps. I began to enjoy the twirl of my skirts as Ryley spun us around the room. And I started to appreciate the freedom and ease of letting Ryley choose which direction I went, in letting him decide which steps I would take.

He spun me quickly, and my hair- longer than I had realized- whipped him right in the face. My hand shot up from his shoulder to cup his stinging cheek, "I'm sorry." I snickered.

He grinned, with a small shake of his head. Ryley's eyes were soft as he stared down at me, his cheek surprisingly rough beneath my palm. I found myself stroking my thumb over his defined cheekbone and his eyes fluttered. His chest expanded, nearly brushing mine, while he breathed in a deep sigh of contentment.

It felt peculiar, completely foreign, for someone to enjoy my touch. Instead of cringing away from it.

I slid that hand off his cheek and down his throat, letting it stay there, my fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. And when he smiled again, I smiled back. He seemed almost shocked, his own hand moving to touch my face, the back of his knuckles brushing the line of my jaw.

"There you are…" He whispered, and I felt a shift within myself, a shift that told me to lean into that touch. To close my eyes and allow myself to become the young girl in the flowy dress, dancing with a handsome prince, to lose myself inside this rare moment when I felt so light.

I wanted so much to be that girl. I would give anything to be her.

But the spell was broken when Ryley turned his head, as a thick male digit tapped him on the shoulder. "May I cut in?" Said the intruder.

Ryley took an unwilling step back, revealing the man to me. And all that weight that had been lifted during my steps and twirls all crashed back into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. All it had taken was a few minutes of weightlessness for me to forget how crushing this world could be.

Grimmjow, General of the Southern army, extended his hand to me, "Shall we, Heir?"

Ryley did not step away, his hand a now familiar weight on my waist, he looked at me, watching carefully. His eyes had hardened, and I knew he could see the changes Grimmjow's presence had brought to my entire body.

I glanced once more towards my father, who now had a woman close to my age perched in his lap. No, he had not sent Grimmjow to offset me, he seemed to have completely forgotten who this party was meant to bless.

No, it was not my father that was staring directly at me from yards away. Santos Kael, Lord of the Southern Rim, watched us very intently, his face giving away nothing of his intentions.

I gave him a slight nod of my head, accepting his clear challenge. And then I reached out and took his generals hand.

Let the game begin.

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 _ **I'm so happy with the progression this story has made and I just want to thank everyone who takes the time to review on my chapters**_

 _ **You have no idea what all this has mean to me.**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	30. Chapter Thirty

**_WOW. Thirty chapters... insane. Thanks to everyone who's been with this story since the beginning!_**

 ** _I'm glad to hear Ryley is growing on you all, he's becoming one of my favorites as well._**

 ** _And for those of you wondering why Ryley and Orihime have been spending more time together, please remember that while this IS an Ichihime story, I have no plans to just jump into anything. And keep in mind that Ryley is her fiancee, I personally think it would be weird if she didn't spend any time with him. Everything is planned out in my head and if you are looking for a quick and cheerful happy ever after then I'm afraid this story just isn't for you._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters_**

 ** _Lets jump back in-_**

* * *

Grimmjow's hand was rough. My calluses caught on his and scratched in an unpleasant way. And yet his hands were also smooth; soft in the places a sword hilt didn't lay. It made me wonder how skilled a soldier he truly was.

"Do you find many dancing occasions, Goldie?" Grimmjow asked softly, as he spun me away from my betrothed. "It seemed you had done it every day of your life."

"I'm a quick learner," Came my purred response.

His teeth flashed, pulling me in close enough for me to feel his hot breath on my brow, "A woman like you needs to be taught more valuable things. I would be happy to show them to you."

A corner of my lip pulled up, almost involuntarily. Not at the words, or their implications, but at the cause of such words. I could tell by the way he placed his hand on my lower back, his fingers settled over the curve of my behind, and the way his eyes would linger on the low cut neckline of my gown, that he had a primal attraction. Not with my mind, or even with me at all, but with the cage that held my soul. With my body that had grown beautiful despite the rotting core within.

And I smiled because I could use such a weakness.

I allowed myself to slip even closer to his broad chest, so close the tips of my breasts brushed him when I breathed, I knew he could feel it. "It is a true shame then, that I am already spoken for."

I felt his head turn in the direction we had left Ryley, "The binding words have not yet been said; you still belong to us all." _Possessive._

"I have heard how Northerners bed their women, and if those rumors are true, then I don't think I will need to stray from my marriage bed for much of anything." I threw a glance towards Ryley, who was speaking to a group of older men, a cup of wine in his hand untouched. I turned my calculating look into one of subdued want, and was thankful he was not watching to see its falseness. I held it long enough for Grimmjow to notice it, and then even longer, waiting. Waiting.

And then his fingers found my cheek and moved my gaze back to him. I blinked from my false daze, feeling a deep blush rise to my face.

"One night with me, and all you'll be thinking of in that bed is thoughts of the South." _Persuasive_.

I shook his touch from my face, "I have seen much of Southern men, and I'm afraid they all fell rather... short."

Grimmjow snarled a low growl from deep in his throat, "Then, I will erase all of those men from your mind." _Defensive_.

"I've lived my entire life in the company of warriors from every corner of the world. West, East, North, South. Men of every shape, size and color. Yet they have all failed to satisfy me," The words tasted like dirt in my mouth. But the dark, greedy shadow that overtook my partners face, made the nausea well worth it. For the unspoken question was clear: How are you any different from the rest?

"You will scream my name, Heir. You will claw my back in your desperation and I shall wear them as badges of honor. And I will not stop until every piece of your body belongs to me." _Jealousy._

It was the final straw, the final brick in my stone house of safety and warmth. Away from his bitter cold. I pressed closer, rising up on my toes, his hands tightened their hold, only strengthening his clear miscalculation. I licked my lips, letting my breath ghost over the hollow of his ear, and his body went taut, blood no doubt rushing far below. He did not shy from my sharp, predator teeth as they barred. "My father would never allow it… He would skin us both for even wanting it. Lucas is his beloved friend, it was no coincidence that Clark arranged for me to marry his son." _Carefully, Orihime. Carefully. Grimmjow_ turned his head once more, his power shoulders tensing as he glanced behind us, to where Clark sat, loud and cheerful, the woman nothing more than a piece of decoration.

My breasts brushed his chest once more, my neck moving back slightly as we turned, lengthening. I was careful not to look at him, careful not to show anything but blank indifference.

Grimmjow was a general, same as me, but he had the advantage of being a man. And Clark would respect his opinion solely because of it. So, if Grimmjow were to mention that now was not the time for the Heir to marry, that this war would need all of my immediate attention, my father might listen. And Grimmjow would only do such a thing if he thought he was getting something from it, would only do it if he believed I would open for him, in the way all men craved.

But I needed to tread carefully. For Grimmjow might come off as having low intellect, but he was no doubt use to manipulation. Use to the way people pushed and pulled him for their needs. One false step, a glance holding the wrong emotion, and it would all crumble around me.

I returned my focus to my steps, pulling back again to return the platonic distance between our bodies. A close to the idea, a shutting of the door he thought he had wiggled open.

He did not say another word, he did not try to pull me close, and I could basically hear the wheels turning inside his sandy head.

We danced in silence for the remainder of the song. I was thankful when the music stopped, and Grimmjow bowed at the waist slightly before sinking back into the crowd. I breathed a sigh of relief, deciding I would follow his lead and remain invisible for the rest of the night.

I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

The next song began and an elderly man stepped in front of me, his hand extended in invitation. I forced myself to smile, and accept his hand. It was not as graceful to dance with the old man, he had lost the strength to lead me properly, and we mostly swayed to the soft hums of the flutes.

It continued that way for what felt like hours. One song would end and my partner would slip away, only to reveal another line of waiting suitors. Most were elders from the North, all very excited for my marriage to their youngest heir. They all offered their congratulations, and some even claimed to have met me all those years ago. I remembered none of them but smiled and told them of the trip I was allegedly planning.

But there were a few from Bellator. I could tell by the scent of roses and steel long before they mentioned it. They were more quiet in their approval, their tones soft and careful. I couldn't decide if it was fear, or respect that brought out the words. And I felt I didn't much want either.

Hours and hours of twirling. No one even asking if I wanted a break, no one seeming to care that my throat was parched, or that my back was beginning to ache. I could feel myself growing less polite, barely even looking at the men who stepped upon, one after the other. Could tell the mask was slipping from my face and I didn't care.

A new partner took my hand, and spun me with a strength I had been missing in the arms of old men. Bringing me back to his chest once more, I looked up into the face of my unknowing rescuer.

"Cuyler," I gaped.

Cuyler Vilantrio was as handsome as my sixteen year old self remembered. With cheekbones that could cut glass, and a smile that set even my cold heart skipping. His teeth were bright against his tan skin as he grinned down at my surprised face.

"Orihime Inoue. I never pegged you as a woman to ever need saving."

I flashed my own teeth in a wicked smile, "I've been put on good behavior. Which means not to gut all those who annoy me."

Cuyler chuckled, deep and masculine, "So that explains why my baby brother is still in one piece."

I glanced to where Ryley had once been, and found him already watching us. His face was calm but his lips perched in an irritated fashion. When he noticed my attention, he lifted a corner of his mouth, and looked away.

Something like guilt hit me right in the gut. "He's the most well mannered of all your brothers. If any other of you lot had been sent to me, I don't think you'd have faired so well."

"I'll be sure to let Garth and Brandt know you say so. Maybe it will ease their broken hearts a little."

"And were they the ones who cornered my poor betrothed?"

Cuyler seemed shocked that Ryley had mention it, but he recovered flawlessly. "' _Cornered_ ' seemed like such a harsh word. We were merely trying to warn him."

So, he'd been there. I didn't let the girlish glee show, "Warn him of what exactly,"

He turned us again, and his face turned serious as he said, "That sometimes the most beautiful of beasts, turn out to be the most deadly."

Such a double edged compliment. I hated how much it rang true, but also loved the slight fear he had for me. I knew how twisted that made me. "That isn't the story I heard." I chortled. He tilted his head, an invitation to continue. "I heard a few of you were very distraught at not being chosen to ride West for marriage, and that Ryley was cornered as a means to learn why he had won the right."

Cuyler smirked, his head shaking slightly as he thought back to the night in question. His hand slid up the back of my dress, his fingers smoothing over the interlacing wounds, my breath caught.

"I suppose there had been a few arguments from my younger brothers, who felt they had earned at least the right to be considered by you."

"But not you?" The words were out before I could consider their implications. I clenched my teeth as he observed me, no doubt thinking through all the meanings my words had.

"Me? No I could never be foolish enough to believe I possess the strength to cage a beast as wild as you." He leaned in, his breath tickling my ear, "I wouldn't have had the heart to anyway. Animals like us, are meant to roam free, stopping only to feed on those too slow to outrun us."

His words set a fire in my blood. His touch like lightning pumping through my skin. _Equal, equal, equal-_ it seemed to say.

I could have lived within those words, those feelings forever. If not for the ones I heard in the voices around us.

 _Whore. Traitor. Wench._

I glanced sideways, over Cuyler's shoulder and into the crowd. Eyes of every color watched us. And I had not noticed how close our bodies had gotten, flush together with not even an inch to spare. Cuyler's mouth at my ear, breathing words too low for any of them to hear- worse that way. For in their minds he could be saying anything.

I pulled back, having to force my eyes away from the crowd. Cuyler looked at me with uncertainty. I opened my mouth, to say what, I didn't know.

 _Her legs must open as wide as her mother's._

It hit me like a slap to the face, and I stumbled back. Cuyler was saying my name, reaching for me. But I suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on me. As if the people drawing closer and closer until I could feel their breath on my skin, though they hadn't moved at all.

 _Whore. Traitor. Wench._

 _Whore. Traitor. Wench._

 _Whore! Traitor! Wench!_

I pushed past Cuyler, and broke through the crowd. Shoving people out of my way until I broke through and had a straight line to the door. The words followed me, still. Even when ascended into the hall and escaped into the night.

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 ** _Thanks for reading!_**

 ** _Please leave any feedback you have, I could really use it!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**_Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its cahracters_**

 ** _Let's jump in-_**

* * *

There wasn't anyone on the roads as I walked through the city, perhaps they were all in bed, or maybe they were wise enough to not leave their homes this night. The wolves now danced within the walls of my home, but they would soon stalk into the streets, trying to find a few sheep who were foolish enough to scamper away from their safe stone homes.

I was glad for the silence, the only sound of my dress brushing against the dirt path. My red cloak covered most of the pearly white gown, but I could see the dirt slowly making its way up the hem. Perhaps it should have bothered me. But, after tonight, I'd never put on this wretched dress again. Let the dirt destroy it.

The usually mind clearing stairs seemed to go on for eternity, and I wished more than I ever had before that I could fly. Though I suppose if i was gifted with flight, I would have soared far away from this city long ago, away from the cage of its walls. No matter how many times I made the climb, my legs would never be use to it. They shook as I stood on the edge, looking out towards the unusually dark city, though the High Court gleamed with light, looking as if it was made of glass instead of marble.

I went to sit on the ledge, as I had a million times before, when a quiet voice in my head halted me.

'There is a world outside these walls.' It told me.

So instead, I turned on my heel and walked to the other side of the great wall, until I was looking out on the endless desert. The moon and stars impossibly bright, shining on every speck of sand, making them individually sparkle. And it almost looked like the sea, as the wind moved the grains gently, like waves flowing out in the deep, untamed ocean.

I sat, though my ridiculous dress made it nearly impossible, my legs dangling, staring out into that curious world, that was possibly beautiful. A world filled with paintings and flowers and seas... I was twenty one years old, and I had seen none of that world. Had only left these walls when war and traditions had demanded it. What was out there? Was it indeed beautiful like my dreams told me it was? Or was it just as cruel and ugly as the world I already knew?

 _Her legs must open as wide as her mother's._

The cool night air suddenly seemed chilly against my heated skin. So many things to worry about. So many lives on the line. And yet those words occupied my immediate focus.

How pathetic.

"I am walking up behind you, do not be alarmed. Do not fall off."

And yet another thing to be depressed about. Ichigo sat gracefully beside me, leaning his back against the thick cement barrier, one of his long legs also dangling off the ledge. I avoided his eyes as he faced me fully. He'd been there, I knew he had heard everything. He always seemed to hear everything. My fingernails were suddenly extremely interesting.

I wondered if i would ever be in the same space as him without being humiliated or bloody by the end of it.

"When I was younger," He began, swinging his leg, his foot lightly knocking against mine. "I worked in a flower shop- yeah a flower shop. Super manly, right? Well, all the other boys thought so too. Which is why they threw so many rocks at me."

I looked up slowly, unexpected agitation bubbling in my stomach. "They did what?"

He snickered. "Yeah, but it's alright. Since I made all their sisters fall in love with me." I sighed heavily, eyes rolling, and he rose his hands in front of him, palms out. "No, I'm serious! I gave those girls so many flowers they just couldn't help themselves."

To be given flowers must be quite an affectionate thing in Bellator. Though, imagining it- a young Ichigo, with his same snarky words and alluring smirk, handing a small girl a solitary flower- I couldn't blame them. The image alone was enough to evoke a sliver of a smile from me and he continued softly. "My point is, sometimes people won't like you, sometimes they have valid reasons, and sometimes they have an idea of you that can never be changed." He knocked his foot against mine once more, a silent request.I watched him silently, not bothering to hide the slight devastation that was trying to swallow me whole. He would see it even if I hide it beneath the mask, and I was too drained to care. "But there will also be people who look harder, who will dig their way under the surface, and see you for who you really are. Cherish those people, Orihime, they are preciously rare."

"Is that why you learned to fight? The boys with the rocks?"

Ichigo paused, his blue eyes losing the brightness as he considered his next words carefully.

I didn't try to rush him. I remembered the way Hisagi had cried, I knew Ichigo had a darkness inside him that was hidden deep beneath the laughter and smiles. I turned forward once more. I wondered what kind of terrible things happened in Bellator. I wondered if they were any different than the horrors within these very walls. I had always imagined it as a perfect place, fit for only perfect people, who lived out their happy lives in peace and safety; bellies full and skin unblemished.

But I suppose bad things happen everywhere, to anyone, at any time.

What a world.

It took Ichigo roughly ten minutes to find his courage, and his words. "When my father died, my mother found comfort in liquor. And cigarettes. The drinking calmed her down and the smoking kept her quiet but, when she mixed them together, when the smoke mingled with her drink, she became unhinged. She would burn me, kick me, slice me open. And then, when she awoke the next day, when she looked upon me, at the unhealable terrors she had left on her own child, she'd turn to her drink and begin anew. And even when I got older and stronger, even when I could have stopped her, I let her do it. It was easy to forgive her, I'd always understood how hard it probably was for her, to look at me and see so much of him."

What could you say to something like that? There weren't any words in any language, in any time, that could possibly heal such a deep and festered wound. I knew better than any. And only for one brief, selfish moment did I allow myself to feel comfort in his tragedies. For we had unknowingly shared something no one could see, scars that went beneath our flesh and into our very bones. Scars so entwined with us that we would take them with us into our next lives. And because he had shared so much, had left himself so bare before me, I decided to trust him with my tragedy as well.

"Training to be Heir had been hard." I began, bracing my mind for the upcoming swarm of repressed memories. "I don't remember when it started really, looking back I can't recall a time when a sword wasn't in my hand. I never knew if the ache in my body was from my bones growing or from the beatings. Yes, it had been hard... but after the trails, I thought things would be different. I had defeated my brothers, I had proven myself, and now life would be easy. What a child I was." I picked at my dirty nails. My mind screamed at me to stop, but I ignored it. "Not even a week later I was thrown into the pits. There are a lots of monsters that dwell in that place, monsters hidden beneath human faces. My shoulder wasn't healed yet, it slowed me down, but still I fought." I defended. "Fought until I couldn't see, until I was sure I would die from the exhaustion alone, but in the end it didn't change anything. Once my strength was gone it took no time at all for them to over power me. They stripped me and strapped me down, there were three of them I think, I've found that I can't quite remember that bit. Though everything else haunts me still But I do know that I had never known pain like that. Even with the beats and the trials, I never knew such a pain existed. Not just my body but my mind and my soul bled that day."

Sudden and unstoppable tears streaked down my face. But they were not brought on by sadness. No, I had cried all of those tears many years ago. I had choked on my anger until it was all that was left.

"I don't know how long I was down there before Clark came. I remember being embarrassed, I remember trying to cover myself. Though, he didn't look at my body, he stared into my eyes. To this day I still wish I'd known what he'd wanted to see that day, wish I could have known what to force into my eyes, but whatever it was he saw, it wasn't enough. I was tortured down there for weeks, every inch of my body was cut open, my fingernails ripped out. They left my face alone though, it's the only part of me that has remained unscarred. Appearances have always been important to him." I brushed a finger down my cheek, where I could still feel Clarks nail cutting through the skin. "At least they use to…" I shook it off. "It's taken me years to figure out what he had wanted to see in my eyes that day. Nothing. He'd wanted me so broken beyond repair so that, even with the gashes and the pain, I would look at him with no feeling in my eyes, to feel nothing at all. For me to see that death would have to be _earned_.

"And even when the torturing stopped, I didn't leave that cold, dark place. I healed down there, my body growing a new; away from the light. I don't know what I had been before it all, but who she was doesn't matter, the real Orihime Inoue was born down in those pits."

I looked at him then, my strength returning at last. I would not be ashamed of what had made me who I was, I would not hide behind my past. I decided instead to wear my tragedies as armor, instead of shackles. I could never admit what I expected but it was not to find his face, normally so controlled, covered in tears. His eyes, usually laced with mischief, shined with deep emotion. Not pity, thank the Gods, but remorse. Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks at the sight but I refused to break his stare, I couldn't let go of this moment quite yet. I had never told a soul about my time down in the pits, and sharing such a deep, broken part of me had me feeling more vulnerable than I had in years. But I welcomed the unknown feeling, it was so rare for me to feel anything at all.

"And of the men?" He asked, venom filling his voice. "What became of them?"

I knew nothing human showed on my face as a smile formed on my lips. "I took them apart. Piece by bloody piece. Kept them breathing as I took everything out of them, until there was nothing left, until the Gods themselves couldn't possibly put them back together." It was the worst thing I had ever done and was perhaps the fondest memory I had. Kept tucked away into the darker parts of my mind, where the demon within me could savor every detail. "They had taken something so important, so pure away from me. And so, I'd taken their lives as payment."

"Good."

One word, whispered to me over the wind, was all it took.

"Orihime, there you are!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin, my face flying to the sound of a male's voice. I found Ryley, heaving himself over the barrier, his long limbs awkwardly steadying his weight. Panic rising, I whirled towards Ichigo, only to find him already gone, leaving nothing but stone before me. I laid my hand against the barrier he had been leaning against, the warmth his body left behind the only indication that he had been there at all.

My attention was still on the stone when Ryley plopped down beside me, bumping his shoulder against mine. "I was looking for you, what brought you so far from the celebration?"

I discreetly wiped the tears from my cheek before bringing my hand to rest in my lap, looking out into the dark world before me. "I've never been one for parties." I stated, simply. Not entirely a lie. "I'm not exactly social, if you haven't noticed."

Ryley relaxed at my joking tone, going as far as to grab my hand, weaving our fingers together, before he laughed. "Who needs parties anyway."

I felt strangely embarrassed by our joined hands, wondering if Ichigo was watching from wherever he'd disappeared to. I couldn't feel his eyes, but I'd come to realize these most recent months that I only felt them when he allowed me to. He could easily stick to the shadows, but he always appeared when he wanted to banter, when he wanted to play.

"Do you miss the North?" My mouth said suddenly.

He blinked, then snickered. "Well, yes- and no. I suppose I just miss the comfort of being in my own home. Being a guest can become rather tiresome after awhile. "

"You're not really a guest, this whole kingdom will be yours soon."

"No, it will never be mine. It will be my wife's. My kingdom will always be the cold eternal winter up in the mountains."

I could understand his point. If I had been married off to a foreign court, to go live in a strange new kingdom, I would have always felt like an outsider. I squeezed his fingers, "I'm sorry, Ryley. I realize I've selfish, not even thinking about what _you're_ leaving behind." He sat up straighter, as if he would object, but I continued. "Perhaps we could visit the North? I'd also like to see it again." Not entirely true but I wouldn't mind a month or two away from my responsibilities, from my father.

His face lit up, and it fueled my decision. I suppose I had been more selfish than I'd realized, for something so small to bring him such happiness. Then his smile faltered slightly, he looked down at our joined hands, his thumb caressing my skin. "Would the king allow it? You have so many duties here."

"I can be convincing when I want to be. Besides, I belong half to the North now, whether he likes it or not." I was downplaying it. I knew it would take long hours of paperwork and meetings, to free up my schedule for such a long trip. But it was a small sacrifice in comparison to all of his.

"Do you..." he lifted our hands so he could brush the back of his hand across my cheek, "Do you really feel that way?"

So much desperation in that question, though I could sense the trust layered in within it, as he handed me a tool that could shatter his heart. Yet I knew, no matter how I answered, he would find a way to accept it. But there would be no point to hurt him, when we were forever bound to one another. Words could wound as deeply as any blade, and they were the only weapon I refused to use.

So, as his lips neared mine, I whispered the only word I could, "Yes,"

I could feel his breath on my mouth, and my eyes closed. His soft lips inches away- when a clatter of swords and spears falling to the stones had us jolting apart.

The wooden storage rack was lying on its side, all of it weapons scattered around it.

"Perhaps the wind?" Ryley suggested, as he got up, walking to lift the heavy case back onto its legs.

I mumbled my agreement, looking around as I moved to help him.

We made quick work of the mess. And Ryley once again took my hand, and- with the moment gone- I let him lead me to the long staircase. We chattered easily, walking through the city. As we passed people lowered their heads, some smiling at our entwined hands.

But I couldn't lose myself in the conversation, my mind was still on the top of the wall. And I had no doubt that the 'wind' was now trailing behind us, keeping his night colored eyes trained on our backs, until we disappeared within the court's walls.

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 _ **Oh Ichigo you sly, jealous dog you.**_

 _ **This was a heavy chapter I know.. But I somehow feel lighter after writing it.**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

_**Hello everyone! So sorry about the suuuuper late update!**_

 _ **Christmas is keeping me busy along with my two jobs,**_

 ** _But here it is, and I'm really gonna try to keep it flowing faster! Thanks for your patience ^-^_**

 ** _Disclaimer : I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters._**

 ** _lets jump in—_**

* * *

War was indeed approaching. It was clear in the air of the cold, dimly lit council room. Where a few servants had dragged in the long strategy table, by my father's request.

The table was extravagant, in such a lethal, brutal way.

Cut from thick oak, heavy enough to crush a man. It must have taken years to carve the landscape of the world. Years to perfect the detail of every corner of our lands, from the tall walls here in the West, down to every grain of wheat in the Southern farms.

It showed every river, every mountain, and left the rebellion no dark space to hide. For even the trench like lands of The Inbetween were carved into the wood. How my father had received such rare knowledge- I didn't dare imagine.

It was those lands I stared at, my eyes tracing over each line and divot.

The men spoke over one another. Cutting in, though their words meant less than the air it took to breathe them.

North, South, East. All high ranking generals had accompanied their Lords West, all had been summoned here, to this room, and were asked for their wisdom.

I had come to find in my few years as general that all people, whether soldier, general or king, all wished to be the hero. The voice that rose higher than all the rest, that countered any argument. And I had also found that those who speak the loudest, are usually the ones with nothing of value to offer.

"Rush the trenches!" Screamed the South.

"Push them East!" Countered the North.

"Split the lines!" Demanded the East.

Plans in the weakest of forms, and it was truly difficult to keep the snicker in. I had not been allowed in these meetings when the Southern Rebellion had risen. I'd been merely a foot soldier then, and had gone where I'd been ordered to go. Ordered by the men who had perhaps forgotten how battles were really fought. They had been behind the safety of their perfect lines for too long.

Grimmjow, on the other hand, was all too willing to rush into combat. It didn't surprise me to see the thirsty look in his eyes. The gleam I recognized all too well. His insatiable appetite for killing was clouding his mind. We do not know their numbers, nor their training. Charging into a land, very different from our own, blind would never gain us victory.

William Lorchan, substitute Nothern General, nearly shook with his fear of conflict. That was the only problem with men who had risen through the ranks with honor. They'd seen their predecessors fail, seen them fall. And they remembered how fragile the pedestal they balance on was. They will do anything to ensure their own steadiness. Even if it means watching an allied city burn.

But Bellator… their intentions were harder to see. Kither Harrington, far older than my uncle, though still in the prime of his life, was as stone faced as they come. And in my ramblings about being prepared, I had never asked if he was a true ally to the rebellion. Or if he was in the dark as I myself had been only a few weeks ago.

Clark stood from his chair, and the voices hushed out like a weak flame.

One day, I vowed, I will command a room with that blind obedience.

My father rubbed his mouth roughly, and I could hear the scratch of his whiskers from across the table. The room held their breath as we waited for him to speak, to declare, to overtake. And I believe it shocked us all when the king met my eyes, looking past every male in the room and said, "What are your thoughts."

I didn't give them all the luxury of my shock, though I felt it more powerfully than they ever could. With only the slightest of glances to Kither, I calmly looked back to the board before us, taking a few precious seconds to properly arrange my thoughts.

"They'll head North." I said, confidently. They all waited. "The South has too much land to cover, the earth is too flat. They'd be exposed, it's an obvious dismissal." I leaned over the table, letting my hand follow the path of my words, "Bellator is too large to overtake alone, and their people are loyal and willing, with unlimited silver weapons. They'd be fools to think they could hold it for long." My fingers found the deep, tall mountains to the North, "But North… With constant snow and winds, it would be impossible to track their movements. The harsh terrain would slow down soldiers not use to such climates," I gave pointed looks to every man in the room. "And with their Lord and Heir already here, with their people weak and hungry from the recent storms," I steadied my eyes on Clark, "The fight would be over quickly."

A mocking clap began to my right, and I looked slowly to the assailant. Grimmjow, to no one's surprise, had a smirk over his disgusting mouth, "I'm impressed, truly." His tone conveyed the taunt. "But, I believe we are all very eager to hear how you'd plan on preventing such a well orchestrated attack."

"We trap the mountains with Witch Fire."

That sent a murmur throughout the room, "There has been nothing about Witch Fire for decades," Said William. "It is believed to never have existed at all."

I shrugged a shoulder, "Spend some time in the underbelly of this city, Northerner, and you will learn how to get your hands on all sorts of wicked things."

At that, the room looked to the king. His face was hard as he considered. I felt the need to hold my breath as he deliberated.

I cut in before he could speak, "Allow me to head North with Luca, Father. I will ensure all goes well; ensure the North is ready."

"Witch fire will blow the mountains to smithereens. What will happen if you are trapped North?" Kither voiced. "What will your homeland do if war is brought to the walls in your absence?"

I crossed my arms across my chest, my armor clinking, "My soldiers are more than capable of waging battle alone. Though if it gives you all peace of mind, I will entrust the safety of the Capitol to Sam, he has been with me since the beginning and will overtake my duties as General while I'm away."

Gimmjow shot a look over his shoulder to Ulquiorra, who'd been quietly observing in the dark shadows of the room, where he seemed to fit perfectly. Ulquiorra made no move to acknowledge his brother but I knew something silent had passed between them. I made a note of it; Sam would be interested in knowing that his name sparked something within them.

"A short term solution," Grimmjow remarked, looking back to me once more, "Yet what you speak of is all out war in the North. Who's to say you would ever return? Heirs are usually kept away from battle, to ensure the safety of their territories future; why put yourself on the line for foreign land."

"You suggest doing nothing while the North is savaged?" Growled the Northern General.

Grimmjow gave him a shrug, "I suggest allowing your people to fight for themselves." A pause, waiting for me to speak out against his challenge. "We all have cities to protect, we all have people to feed, if the North cannot even protect its own capitol- what good will they be to us when real war is raged? I say let the weaklings burn."

I could not hold my tongue any longer. "Perhaps, it is different southward, but in the West we do not cower behind lines on a map. The Golden Army will defend its allies, and obliterate all enemies of the crown. We road South to aid your forgotten people when a tyrant rose from the sand, and we did not hear such strong words then." I leaned over the table, casting my protective shadow over the deep mountains of the north, "And do not forget, Grimmjow, that soon I will be one with the North. And I do not take kindly to traitors of my kin." All northerners in the room stomped their boots at my declaration.

Lust flashed in the darkness of his eyes, before he blinked it away. "You would die for your fiance's homeland?"

"Death comes for us all." I smiled, "If Morta comes to claim me, then I will make sure the earth quakes, and mountains fall. All will know that Orihime Inoue is dead, for the blast will ring out clear across the world."

"Let the Gods hear." They all chanted.

I turned once more to the king who had been uncharacteristically quiet, his face shadowed and nearly distorted in the low light. He nodded, to no one in particular, and stood straighter, the shadows falling away. He gripped his bottle of wine by the neck, and poured it over the board, slipping and pooling in the North. "Go North, my Heir. Bathe the mountains in traitor's blood," The words rose the hair on my arms, my body singing beneath the evil look in his eyes, "And bring me the head of another conquered rebellion."

I told myself the sick, disgusting grin that rose on my lips was an act. I pretended the bubbling in my stomach was lingering nerves. I made myself believe I was dreading the gore, the screams, the death.

All the while, the monster inside me rolled over, opened its slitted eyes and smiled.

* * *

Sam was waiting for me in my chambers. Having nearly paced a rut into the carpet. "Well?"

"Most are thirsty for war. Though, I sense a hesitation from the North- despite Luca's anger." I quickly filled him in on the rest. When I was finished, I plopped onto the long couch, laying out flat. "I need you to watch the twins while I'm away. I don't like the thought of them roaming the Court's without restrictions."

"I'll let a few of the new recruits trail them; call it field experience. They won't be alone for an instant." He assured me, lifting my feet to slip under them. "So, to the North you go."

I attempted to rub the the tired from my sore eyes, muttering a solemn, "It's been a long time."

"Yes, though I will remember your poor temperament upon your return for as long as I live. My nose still looks crooked." He laughed to himself, then his whole face sobered, his tone growing tense. "But you're a child no more, and many things have changed since your last ride North. You might not find such a warm welcome."

"I've already laid roots, and I expect them to spread quickly."

Though, I did not deny the risks. Northerners were a private people. Being tucked away in harsh terrain made you rely on your neighbors, yet caused a wariness of outsiders. More mouths to feed, more bodies to bury.

And I was not as beloved an Heir as Cuyler.

"I worry about you going alone." Sam cut into my thoughts, "Even you can not stop a village of enemies."

"I will not need to. Ryley will be going with me. Let him appease his people."

Sam recoiled slightly, "You're bringing him along?"

"I can't very well ask him to stay, now can I? His father and brother are returning, it's only fitting he accompany his future wife home."

At that, Sam twisted, nearly knocking my legs from his knees. I growled and his reply was a suggestive look. "Cuyler will be making the trek with you, eh?

I cut him with an icy glare, "Did you think he'd remain in the Capitol while his home is undertaken?"

"Is that respect I hear?"

I shrugged a shoulder, "He is a fine soldier and a dedicated heir,"

Sam laughed, letting it drop. "And what am I to do with the copperhead? And her league of misfits?"

"I'll take care of Bronze, she'll steer clear of the court's while i'm away. There's nothing that interests her without me here."

I felt him lean forward, "Nothing?" He questioned, in a cocky, male tone.

I looked him dead in the eye, "Nothing."

Sam slumped back, not looking at all disappointed, "It seems you've thought of everything,"

"I don't like that you sound surprised,"

He grinned around his words, "Though, I am curious about one more thing." I gestured with a hand to get on with it, "While most took your offer, there are still some recruits that haven't given up. They come to the Center everyday, waiting for your return. Oliver among them. If I'm to watch over your duties and play General for a few weeks, who will be there to ensure they don't kill one another?"

As answer I sat up, and draped an arm over the spine of the couch. "Can I entrust them to you?"

A chuckle drifted to us through the shadows, moments before Ichigo stepped in from the open balcony doors, a smirk on his face and a dagger in his palm, "As long as you don't expect them to all be alive when you come back."

"How long have you been out there," Questioned Sam.

"Long enough to be creepy." Ichigo said seriously, flipping his dagger from hand to hand.

Something sparked behind my eyes and I stared at Ichigo for a moment. The wheels slowly turning. I fixed my gaze on the center of his forehead, as if I could burn a hole straight into the brain within.

He reached a hand, hesitantly, to his brow. His fingertips searching for something out of place.

"How soon can you get Bronze here?" I barked out, so suddenly that both of the iron trained warriors flinched.

"Maybe, 20 minutes. What's up?"

I nodded, more to myself as the wheels moved smoother Sam rubbed my leg, bringing me back out. They both stared and I flicked a hand at Ichigo, "Get her here."

He nodded, took a step back as if in a daze and then seemed to find himself once more, and disappeared out into the night

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	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**_Hello everyone, sorry for the wait. Life is getting between me and my computer but we are trying to work things out._**

 ** _here is the awaited next chapter!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its character but the storyline of this story is mine._**

 ** _Lets get back into it—_**

* * *

True to his word, Ichigo delivered Bonnie with a few minutes to spare. Though, she did not look pleased as she hauled herself over the high balcony railing with a barely there grace.

Her red hair was wild, her cheeks flushed, as if she'd run all the way from the slums.

I stood to greet her, Sam following close behind. And I didn't feel the need for formalities, "You mentioned a potion that bonds a Whisperer and human together. That will allow her to see into their mind from great distances." Bronze nodded, trying not to let the irritation show. "Can you get me a vial?"

She lifted a lip, her shoulders tensing slightly, "I could scrape something together. But you shouldn't be gone long enough for us to need that connection," Ichigo must have filled her in on the run over, "and with the lady in black sniffing at your tails-"

Cutting her off, I scoffed, "It won't be for me." They all waited for me to continue, and I sighed as if it were obvious. I looked over a shoulder to Sam, "Can you get me the Southerners schedule,"

It took him a moment, but I watched as realization bloomed in his eyes, they squinted before he threw his head back and laughed.

"Anyone care to fill us in?" Bonnie growled.

I gave her a lazy sideways glance, "Grimmjow has been a thorn in my side since before the Gathering. I sense a scheme brewing inside him, and it makes me uneasy to leave him in the hands of others not as skilled in truth telling." I threw Sam a look. He shrugged, not taking offense. "Though, if I knew the plans he had, if I could attempt to predict them before they were fully formed…"

"You want to bond him to one of our Whisperers?" Ichigo breathed, a muscle tensing in his jaw.

I didn't acknowledge him. Bronze rubbed her chin thoughtfully, her eyes shifting as if reading words from a page. Ichigo continued anyway, this time to his leader, "We only have Rukia's bonding potion. And I don't want her mind anywhere near that pigs."

The tone set something fluttering in my stomach. It was a possessive, almost jealous twinge that swam through the words, that settled over his body like a frigid frost.

Rukia. I had never heard him mention her, but it went without saying that she was the witch he'd been bonded to. That had taken his consciousness away within the time it took me to blink.

"It wouldn't work anyway," Ichigo said, almost in relief, "The potion must be ingested willingly. With consent."

He crossed his arms, thinking he'd put an end to it. But I'd been trained to plot ten, twenty, thirty alternate routes into a single plan. And while he had slammed a door to one possible strategy, I simply took a step back and walked onto the next waiting path.

"Then I will have him drink it willingly." Bronze finally looked up, "Can this potion be diluted? With wine or ale?"

"No," she clarified, "it must be pure, with no source of mankind's interference."

I moved onto the next path, "What about saliva? Is that considered an interference?"

Bonnie considered it, "I suppose not."

I cringed slightly, "Then get me the vial and I'll take care of the rest."

"What is it you plan to do?" Sam asked, his first words since Bonnie's arrival. I took a deep breath through my nose, an attempt to keep the bile down.

"I'll carry a small capsule of the potion, get Grimmjow to accept it, and transfer it to him."

Bonnie spoke out, "Transfer how?"

I simply stared at her in silence. Waiting.

"Oh gross." Her entire body shuttered with disgust. I wasn't too thrilled about it either.

"This all seems very unnecessary," Ichigo said, "We don't need to be in his mind."

Perhaps not. But with me gone, Grimmjow will slither his way into my father's favor unrestricted. And with Clark's obvious desire for a male heir, he will no doubt accept the southern general with an ease I could never obtain. I couldn't take the risk.

I said as much, and Ichigo only sneered, "I don't like it."

An image of a faceless woman, with feather like skin and blood red lips had me snapping: "You don't have to like it." He only glared. "Get me the witches potion, I'll make the transfer before I leave."

And that was the end of it.

I tossed and turned that night. Every step outside my door had me jolting, the wind whistling in the trees down below sounded like screaming wails.

I had felt Ichigo's eyes slip away hours ago. He hadn't come out of his shadows since Bronze left, Sam escorting her back to the safety of the lower rim. I didn't much want his company anyway; I knew he was sulking.

His precious witch would have to slunk through the mud swamp that was Grimmjow's mind. What a heroic sacrifice.

I rolled to my back, sighing deeply. My eyes sore, my body exhausted. It was my mind that cursed me. My mind that told me danger was looming. It whispered at me, scolding me that I wasn't ready.

It reminded me of Hisagi. Of his gentle temperament and his own beconing dangers. It questioned my ability to do anything about it.

It forced me to remember my engagement, which I had nearly let myself forget. It asked me what I planned to do, demanded to know if I had a plan for it at all.

It brought up my encounter with the woman in black. Her chilling words that spoke of prophecy. It screamed at me to run. To get far away before her words could reach out and touch me.

And on and on it went.

Now to ride north, to bring down a threat I knew wouldn't be there. Though, perhaps it would. In the form of a brave, selfless Heir, coming to protect them all. All the while willing to watch the city burn. Who knows, I could be the one to ignite the flames.

I just prayed my father would stay still while I was away. And that Ichigo and Bronze had the sense to keep their heads down and eyes open.

It had seemed like a wise plan at the time; To leave. It would surely appear as if I was ready and willing to die for my father and his crusade. It would secure my position. Yet what would be the cost.

Hisagi's trials could come and go before my return. His body could turn cold and be buried while I'm thousands of miles away.

Bronze and Ichigo could be discovered. Tortured and brutalized in unspeakable ways. Their words able to mark me for a similar death.

These were the thoughts that kept me up at night. And I knew I would never get back to sleep, so I dressed. In the pitch black leathers that reeked of horrors. Grabbed a blank piece of parchment, and made my waking hours useful.

The sun had already settled high in the sky when I returned to the steps of the High Court's. There was a rising hussle coming from the peak and I quickened my pace. In my still weakened state it took me nearly five minutes to clear the stairs, my heart pounding heavily in my chest.

There was a huddle of people to the far right of the entrance, and I observed from afar, listening carefully for any sounds of conflict.

Laughter broke out among the crowd, and, unable to shove down my curiosity, I moved closer. It seemed to be a man telling stories. I could see the motion of his arms flailing as he explained his tales in detail.

"- the maiden didn't take kindly to the words, you see. And, royal blood be damned, she sent a fairly earned kick up into his groin." I halted at the voice, the obvious accent. "Poor bastard had to wait two days for his manhood to retract from him inside his body." The people around him burst into fits of laughter.

It was nearly difficult to watch. I hated seeing them laugh at the Northern heirs story, hated watching the women attempt a step forward to gain his attention if only for a moment.

For if they could enjoy Cuyler's presence while they avoided mine, if they could wish for his attention while forsaking my own… then it meant it was not the title of heir, or the blood of a ruler that kept them from accepting me.

And I was too tired.

I turned my back, moving only a few feet away before rushing feet approached.

"You look like hell," Cuyler joked, keeping a pleasant distance. I paused, looking down on myself. The black of my suit now looking like a grimmy gray. My hair knotted and reeking of- I didn't want to know what. Then I took in his crisp clothing. He, of course, wore a tunic of deep purple, his lapel matching the sharp black of his pants.

His dark hair, looking almost auburn in the unforgiving sun, was neat and clean. And I could smell the manly scent drifting to me in the wind.

No wonder they had accepted him with such ease.

"Oh, this old thing?" I mocked, brushing an imaginary fleck of dust from my leg. "I only break it out for special occasions. So it seems we were fated for this encounter." I kept on walking.

He pursued, "I heard you are to accompany us North, to fight with us if trouble comes to us in the mountains. I seem to find myself once again owing you."

"I'm not going for the sake of having you in debt to me."

Cuyler scoffed, "I suppose not." He thought for a moment, "Perhaps, it is for my brothers benefit then?"

I didn't let myself pause, "What good is an army, if I can't even protect my lovers home."

"Then he is your lover?" Cuyler had no shame in asking. I must have chuckled, because he barked, "Is it a funny notion?"

"Perhaps, not."

The silence between us grew thick in the pace of a few steps. And I could feel words rising inside of me, but I snuffed them out. They had no right to be uttered.

"I worry for your safety in my territory. You have not been an accepted thought among the people."

Would I ever be?" I wanted to ask. Instead I allowed the annoyance to overtake the pity. "I've never cared much for men who worry."

I saw Cuyler shake his head in his own annoyance. I had never seen him get more than slightly bothered and I reveled in his rarely seen humanness.

"Yes, It is stupid to worry for you." He said, in a tone meant to get my temper rising. "What is there to fear for the one who fears nothing?"

The words struck something within me. It was a feeling of cold and anger. It was old and new and everything in between and it stopped me dead in my tracks. My mind flashed back to pitch black and ancient stone.

I turned to Cuyler, as he halted beside me. I stared into his face, and wondered how a person could ever be so wrong.

"I fear a great many things, Cuyler. I fear the sound of echoing footsteps in an empty hall. The dark shadows that loom over my bedroom walls. I fear men like you. With their hungry eyes and hushed whispers." Because I knew, perhaps best of all, that what men could do- death would be welcomed in the wake of such horrors. "Though, perhaps, they are small fears. Yes, I suppose the only thing I've ever truly feared is my father. His reach is farther than you'd like to believe, comrade." I threw a look past his shoulder, where the eyes of his crowd of listeners had stopped in their tracks. There smiles turned to blank looks, there mouths now speaking in hushed tones. I met his eyes once more, "and you should be mindful of the words you speak in the presence of his followers. You are not in the North."

The world was different elsewhere. It had to be. For people like Cuyler and Aiden to ever have become such open people. There had to be places where words were not twisted. And looks between friends meant nothing more.

But not here.

Cuyler had sought me out now, not once but twice. And the eyes of the people had not been kind the first time. I feared what this could bring.

Yet another fear to add to the list.

I should leave, but I couldn't stop myself from enlonging our encounter, "Do not fear for my trip North, Cuyler. I will be safer amongst enemies than I have ever been among my family."

"I am your family now too. Where does that leave me?"

I smiled softly, wishing my answer could be different. Wishing I could be different. "I have never been safe with you."

* * *

Ichigo left me another note that night. It sat, looking nearly forgotten between the pages of the book on my nightstand. It's corners were worn out, the paper wrinkled and smeared. It left me wondering how long he had held it in his hand before deciding to leave it for me to find.

It was much longer than his first one, and the words this time were written in neat little lines, he had taken his time.

They could have painted you as flowers

Like the beauty of your name

Left you out among the roses

To wallow in no pain

But they heard the drums beating

In the hollow of your chest

It thumped like soldiers marching

Under the banner of your crest

They could have stuck you in light dresses

And told you to sit still

To spend out your days quietly

Not a drop of blood to spill

But then they read the master plans

Forming behind your eyes

Truth taken softly

And twisted into lies

 _They'll tell you, you were born this way_

 _That it's how your meant to be_

 _That there is no escaping it_

 _Even if you flee_

 _But damned things do no wonder_

 _They do not look for hope_

 _They do not cry for innocents necks_

 _Left hanging by a rope_

 _They'll scream your name in earnest_

 _Yet whisper it in fear_

 _They'll look to you for safety_

 _And shrink when you are near_

 _They do not understand you_

 _And probably never will_

 _Still they'll all come closer_

 _And stare to get their fill_

 _Come look and see the princess_

 _Who smells of soap and rot_

 _Royalty by blood and shame_

 _Her title smeared by plot_

 _An Heir of shiny gold_

 _Half her filled with greed_

 _Yet somewhere deep inside her_

 _Are shriveled flower seeds_

 _You were inevitable_

 _A force beyond any and all control_

 _You were the sword brought down_

 _Leaving a severed head to roll_

 _You were the beginning_

 _And you will be the end_

 _I wonder what will be left of you_

 _The day you break, instead of bend_

I stared at the words, the quiet deafening- overpowering.

I didn't sleep that night.

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	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

_**Hey everyone! this one came faster! Hopefully that means I'm getting better at this updating thing!**_

 ** _Im so happy that you guys are still sticking with this story even though im a terrible poster!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters_**

 ** _lets get into it!—_**

* * *

I was late to breakfast.

Every head snapped to the door when it creaked open. My father gave me a stern look, displeasure written in the lines of his eyes. I kept my head down.

Ryley stood and pulled out the chair beside him and waited patiently for me to slip into it. I had no choice, I knew, but given my only other option was the seat beside Cuyler.. Yes I was happy the decision had been made for me.

"We will remain a few more days," Luca continued, once I was seated. "Any more and I fear we'd be caught out during the approaching storm."

"Do you have all you need?" Clark asked, his fork scratching his plate as he stabbed a thick sausage, bringing it up to his mouth as Luca responded.

"More than we need. Thanks to your generosity we'll be able to feed my entire estate with the remnants of our journey."

"It's all I can do for my future family,"

I took a bite of my eggs. They dropped into the emptiness of my stomach.

"Speaking of," Clark's tone changed letting the rest of us know we were all being spoken to. "With everything going on, I think we should push forward the date of the wedding. Orihime has many responsibilities during war times and I would like her to be settled before the world goes to shit."

I prayed the devastation wasn't too clear on my face.

"Though I would have preferred her married here, before the people, perhaps it will be best to do it while you're in the north. Then when she returns to me, her head will be clear. Hopefully her womb will still be vacant. A pregnant General is a bit of a liability, don't you agree?"

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply before opening them once more. I was going to lose the eggs.

Luca was laughing, saying something about the Vilantrio seed-

"Forgive me, your majesty, but I must disagree." My head snapped in Ryley's direction as he cut off his father.

"Keep your mouth shut, boy." Seethed Luca, who was silenced by my father, who held a hand out, "No let the lad speak, Luca. He is to be king one day, and we owe him at least the right to speak his opinion." I bit my tongue. Where the hell was my right to an opinion.

"I believe it would be best for all of we postponed our nuptials. War can be tough on the hearts of the people, as we have all seen. It makes them restless and uncertain and such a thing can lead to devastating consequences." He motioned to his brother, "We were both attacked in the wake of the Southern rebellion, when our people had grown reckless in their hunger, their fear. When left alone for too long their thoughts can turn rotten," he looked at me, carefully, his timing perfection. His pause just long enough. "If we hold the thought of their heirs being married over them, it gives them a shining hope of a future. Of an end to the bloodshed. That hope could appease them, if used correctly."

Moves and countermoves… Ryley was an expert chess player, that I'd known, what I had not realized was that he knew how to shift the players on the larger chess board of politics.

Clark sank back in his chair, a laugh breaking from his throat, "Why the Gods chose to make you the youngest heir I will never know, you are a born ruler." The king looked to Luca, "You've raised him well, my friend. It saddens me that we will have to wait even longer until we are family by law," And that was it. The noose loosened around my neck and I felt, for the first time in months, that I could truly breathe.

I caught his movement moments before I felt Ryley's fingers slide over my thigh. He kept his hand there, a solid weight. I stole a glance, but he was watching our father's exchange. I looked to the hard line of his jaw, so close I could see the thin whiskers sprouting from his chin and found that I did not hate his touch.

That I did not hate him at all.

Yet, for no reason at all, my eyes shifted across the table. Cuyler, who hadn't said a word, was focused on his plate, his hands seeming too large for his utensils. His fingers were meant to grip a sword with strength not lift strawberries to his mouth with gentle attention.

I watched him chew, in a trance. It seemed both Vilantrio heirs had skipped their morning shave, for Cuyler's cheeks were rough. Yet while Ryley looked remotely the same, his brother seemed darker, manly and unapologetic.

It brought back the memories of our days on battlefields, where hot water was a lost luxury and shaved faces were a waste of resources. I'd seen Cuyler cut down men with a single stroke of his sword. And I had watched him wash his face in a bowl of crisp water in the hour that followed, scrubbing the horrors away. He had left the water stained red.

A drop of crimson fell from the corner of his mouth as he bit into his fruit and Cuyler wiped it away with his thumb. His eyes met mine as he popped it into his mouth.

Ryley squeezed my knee and the trance was broken. And then that touch slid away.

I should have felt the eyes, and had my relief not overtaken my attention, I'd have noticed the tension in the air of the room and had six more seconds to prepare

I didn't dwell on that as men swarmed from the servants entrance, as the main doors pounded against stone as they too were throw open. I met eyes with Cuyler and felt his steadiness, his assurance.

He had known they were coming. I noticed within the next second that no one else stood, or seemed shocked. I could feel Ryleys gaze and I knew I should meet it, but I couldn't break the stare of his brother.

Seconds ticked by and the men would be on me in moments but still I waited, waited for the slight worry to enter Cutlers eyes. It never came. Good.

I smiled, more to myself than to him.

It had been Orihime Inoue who'd been seated but it was not her who rose. If it was a show they wanted, then I'd gladly oblige.

Eight men. Two with sword's. Three spears. The rest bare handed.

That was all I made out before a sword swung for my head, it slammed into the hard oak of the table, lodging. I swung, my knee going up into his stomach, he grunted but he was not a recruit; unused to violence. I gripped him by the back of the neck and slammed him into the table, the plates breaking against his face and slammed my elbow down into the crown of his skull.

Twisting, I kicked my chair out, it's base slammed into a mans shins. I flung myself towards it stepping off the seat, I met his body with an unforgiving force, we fell hard, and I felt more than heard something in his neck snap as I jammed it down with me.

I rolled as the first spear aimed at my chest, nearly hit its mark. I threw a hand out to it, wrapping it in the vine of my grip, and yanked. The man jolted forward, right into my heel as I sent it up into his groin. I freed the spear from his hands and swept him off his feet with its long reach. The jagged end was through his throat before his next breath entered the world.

I yanked it out and snapped it over my knee, palming the shards in both hands, turning to see the remaining five hesitate, or maybe attempting to use their numbers to their advantage. But there were only three weapons left and I now hand two of my own.

I charged head first, and they split down the middle. I slid under the swing of a spear, and sprung back to my feet, plunging the silver end of my spear between two meaty ribs and into the heart nestled within, I kept it securely there as his sword clattered to the ground and I flung the now vacant body over my shoulder into the only two armed men left and then both crumbled under the weight of their comrade.

I nearly did the same as two hard bodies slammed into me from both sides. I wasted no time, my fist jabbed against a throat, at the same moment my foot kicked out a knee from under the other- he dropped to a knee and I threw two punches into the face of the other before he could catch his breath. And as the one on the ground moved to stand, I kicked him solidly in the chest shoving him back into the feet of two spear handed men.

I grinned as they neared, raising my fists encouragingly. They lunged together, both spears going for my gut, intending to spill my breakfast on the floor for all to see. They hadn't noticed the sword at my feet until it was already in my hand, I spun on my knees and severed his leg from his hip- his blood spraying over my face and neck- his throat was next, he gurgled on his life before that too was severed from him.

The last man stood alone, staggering back a step. His weapon seeming little more than a stick against the gleaming silver in my palm. I swung it down on him, the wood slicing in half like melted butter. He didn't have time to blink before my sword was sticking in his chest, I stared into his eyes as they dimmed. I felt Morta reach up and snatch the soul from inside him.

And because I had not forgotten my audience, I fisted his shirt and swung him over, letting him land solidly on the table, causing the glasses under him to shatter and splash their liquid onto the pure white table cloth.

Only Clark and Cuyler smiled, Ryley seemed nearly green and his father stared on in absolute shock. I reached out and plucked a glass of water from the table and downed it quickly, not caring of the droplets that fell over my chin and onto my shirt, loving the idea of it smearing the blood and sweat coating my skin.

I slammed the empty glass down and sighed in satisfaction.

Clark cupped his hands together and leaned back, "Proof enough?" He asked his friend, who had not taken his eyes away from my face. I raised a brow at him in question and he stuttered out a breath, a curt nod his only answer.

He'd needed me tested. I understood, of course. He had a lot riding on the shoulders of his soon to be daughter, and reputations could be deceiving.

I moved to sit in the one remaining chair, stepping over an unconscious body, not even thinking anything of it but Clark flicked a hand at me, "Go get yourself cleaned up. You're making the boy sick."

Ryley's color had turned from green to nearly purple in his attempt to keep the bile down. I realize then that he had never seen a man die. He had not heard the sounds or felt the presence of the Goddess of death. I remembered how I'd felt the first time I'd faced that reality and had a surge of an emotion similar to pity in the hollow of my chest.

I gave the king a small dip of the head and moved toward the door. I paused as I rounded the table, "Sorry, my love." I whispered in Ryley's ear, loud enough to ensure they all heard. And then I planted a kiss on his stumbled cheek, pulling away I saw two specks of smeared blood had found its way onto his skin and I whipped it away with my thumb before patting his shoulder.

Cuyler stood as I departed, and though I told myself not to, I looked back to see him returning the grin I had given him before it all.

The grin of anticipation.

* * *

My back pulsed and throbbed with every heartbeat. The wounds seemed to be red hot against the fabric of my shirt and I clenched my teeth against the burn.

People stared as I made my way across the court. Though, with my face drenched in the drying blood of my opponent, I felt they did not seem near as surprised as would be expected. I wondered if that reflected on my character or their own.

The two sleepless nights were pulling me down, my body quivered. Muscles I hadn't used in too long had been strained. I welcomed the ache, just as I welcomed the stares of the politicians. I wanted them to fear me. I wanted them to remember the look of me as I was right now, I wanted them to hesitate the next time they spoke of me.

 _Whore. Traitor. Wench_.

I suppose it had been my own fault. For letting them forget what I was. And what I was willing to do to those who spoke out against me. They would learn.

They had watched me, young and small, thrown into the fighting ring and had put money on my head. They'd wanted my blood to stain the sand. Waiting for my death to be met with thunderous applause. They would regret it.

The quivering turned to something else, something dark. How many could I kill before anyone could stop me? I could scratch their eyes out and Clark would praise me for it. What was to stop me?

Someone brushed my shoulder as they passed and I tensed. So easy… to reach out and snatch their soul. A few were armed, but it was all for appearance. They wanted to look strong, to command respect without earning it. They would fall quickly.

I stopped walking, under the vaulted ceiling, the world continued moving around me. The monster inside me roared, demanding its next meal.

None of them could stop me. None of them would try. They had watched, they had cheered.

I would smile over their corpses.

A familiar scent over took my lungs, I didn't need to look to know. It smelt of rain. Like a world wiped clean.

He reached up and rubbed a soft cloth against my cheek, it came away sullied. He looked down on it, and simply folded it over and brought it back up, attempting to get rid of the evidence of my evil. Scrubbing the dried blood from my face with gentle strokes of his handkerchief.

His touch felt like acid on my skin. An angel's touch against that of a demon. I moved my face from under his cloth. "Sam," I said, my throat raw. "I need Sam."

Ichigo hesitated, hand still raised toward me. I couldn't meet his eye, I couldn't let him see the monster that was still awake, it would be it's eyes he saw. And he wouldn't understand. He was too good, too pure.

Sam. Only Sam could look into those eyes and stare the creature away.

I don't know how I got to my room, I didn't remember moving. I didn't recall splashing water on my face, whether it was hot or cold. Yet, somehow I'd cleaned all the muck away with shaking hands and a vacant mind. My shirt stuck to my skin as I pulled it over my head, I stared at it in my hands. Crazy how it could still feel so soft. So smooth.

A shadow shifted behind me, large and dark.

 _Finally_ ,

Sam pulled off his own shirt and made his way to me silent and swift. He yanked the shirt over my head, guiding my arms into the sleeves.

"I wanted to," I said in a voice too soft to belong to me, "I wanted to,"

He didn't acknowledge whether he knew what I meant. It wouldn't have made a difference. He put an arm around my shoulder, the muscle a heavy, grounding weight, though I hunched under it.

Sam lead me to my bed where the sheets were already pulled open, my legs shook, nearly buckling with only a few inches before I'd be in the soft embrace of my bed. I slid into it, still tense even as Sam pulled the cover up and set it carefully over my back.

I didn't close my eyes, though my lids felt heavy and swollen. Sam waited, standing over me. He sighed deeply, his shoulders hitching. He sat himself beside the bed, tucking his legs in, his naked back leaning back against the mattress.

He didn't say a word as I reach out a hand. He understood, like I knew he would.

My palm laid over the curve of his shoulder, the skin hot against my cold fingers. And it was only because of that warm that I allowed my lids to drop.

I was asleep before they'd even closed completely.

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 _ **I've gotta say, Sam has been a true surprise to me. He just cares about hime so much, even tho I had never planned on them having such a strong friendship! I love it!**_

 _ **let me know what you think of him, so I know if I'm the only one!**_

 _ **till next time!—**_


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

**Hey there. So this chapter has more darker things and mentions of rape so please do not read if those things will bother you.**

 **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.**

 **WARNING: DARK THEMES!**

 **lets hop in—**

* * *

It was dark when they opened again, and my arm felt numb as I pulled it away from Sam's furnace of a shoulder, my hand cramped as I bent my fingers.

"How long has it been since you've eaten?" Sam asked, without turning. I stared into the darkness where I knew his head must be. Sleep still fogging the corners of my mind as I struggled to remember. "Come on, Orihime. The rumbling of your belly was shaking the bed. You should know better."

He stood up and rolled his shoulders, and I wondered if he'd moved even an inch in the hours I'd been asleep. He took a step toward the door, and I sat up, "No, you stay here. I'm just going to get some dinner from the kitchens." _And then you're gonna tell me what the hell happened. Is what he didn't need to add._

Sam brought me a steaming bowl of beef stew, and two loaves of bread. And when I golfed down my own bowl, burning the taste buds right off my tongue, he handed his over.

Belly full I slumped back against my pillows. Sam ripped off the end of the bread and took a big bite. "So, I saw that the dining room is blocked off, you know anything about that?"

"They must be scrubbing the blood from the table," I shrugged.

"Can't take you anywhere," he joked, with a shake of his head. But then he turned quiet and I knew there would be no more jokes. "Ichigo seemed pretty shook up when he found me. He said you were covered in blood and shaking in the center of the court's, that…" he trailed off, and I didn't want to know what else Ichigo saw. He always sees too much. "It's been a long time since I've seen you like this. A very long time."

I kept my gaze on my hands, folded in my lap, "It's been coming for weeks. Building up. I barely sleep, and when I do, I remember things I've forgotten. Things I've buried in the mass grave of my past." The dead should stay buried. "I see their faces." I looked at him, then. "All of them. They find me at night, they stare at me. They smile."

Sam's face was grim, "Yeah, mine find me too."

"It's not just that," I swallowed hard. "I've been having these dreams, but they aren't dreams. They're me, or who I used to be. I'm watching my memories as if I'm one of the Gods. Staring down on myself, watching helplessly as my brother tries to kill me. And from the pits…" Sam tensed, and I didn't want to tell him. Not because I was ashamed, no I'd fought my way past that with Ichigo on the wall. I just didn't want to see the look in his eyes. Didn't want to hear the words I knew he'd say. But he had sworn himself to me, and to understand, to really understand why I'd done the things I'd done, he needed to know. "I watch the men torture me. I see my skin open up, I see the blood hit the floor and I hear myself begging, for mercy, for death. It always takes me a moment to realize who it is, lying on that stone slab. It's when the men take off their pants, that I remember." He'd gone still. Ridged, not even a hitch of breath. "I watch as they rape me. I relive it every night."

"I'm not who you think I am." I tell him. "The girl you knew, she was butchered in the dark. She _died_ screaming. I'm just a monster wearing her face." I closed my eyes, "I've lived my life wearing her as a mask, doing what was expected of her. She was destined to be general and so a general I made her. She'd been born with a pretty face, and so I held it high enough for the world to see. All the while some small, fleeting part of her remained. She was fragile and naked but there. I could feel it," A tear fell down my cheek, sliding across my jaw. "And I dedicated everything, every damn second of my life to ensure that part survived. I tucked it away, shielding it from the horrors I committed. I threw myself at the feet of my father and did what I needed to do."

I opened my eyes, and gave him a heavy look. He didn't recoil. "But something has changed. I can feel that tiny, human part of me shrinking away. I fear one day I'll look and it won't be there. And I'm just so tired."

Sam didn't hesitate, didn't even seem to think twice, as he brought a hand up to cup my cheek. I felt my lip quiver at the tenderness, and I couldn't help but lean into it. "We can leave right now. Slip away in the night and never look back."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "I can't abandon my people."

"You don't owe them a damned thing."

He was wrong. Those people today who had stared at my morbid face and continued walking. Who had barely paused a step in their morning routine. The ones who had existed around me as I grew up alone, who'd ignored my desperation for any touch that wasn't given with the intent to bruise... Oh, I owed them a great deal.

I had felt so numb for so long, and suddenly my insides burned with such a swollen, festering rage. Sam's hand on my cheek only made me all the more confident, all the more willing. The Golden Heir was alone no longer. "I owe them the deaths they deserve."

I had spent years as a shadow in the high courts. Years of my life drifting and floating within its crushing waves, but somehow, over those long years I had taught myself how to survive, to keep my head above water just long enough to gasp a lungful of air. It had been enough then, it wasn't now.

Ever since that first meeting with Bronze... She had stormed and raged in the sky above the sea in which I drowned and now nothing would ever be the same.

"Your head would roll long before you could touch any of the people who truly matter in this city."

"Then so be it,"

"I really wish you'd stop that," Sam sighed, voice thick and eyes lowered, but I could see the flash in the dark.

Minutes pass before I could mutter a whispered: "What?"

"Wanting to die."

The words dropped deep into me. And I was struck quiet by them. Once again I was presented with a view of myself I never knew existed. I wished desperately to see myself, if only for a moment, through his eyes. I wonder what always caught his attention first. Was it the muscles that had loosened with hunger? The mouth that had forgotten how to smile in happiness? Or the eyes that had long since gone vacant?

I thought I'd known. What I was to him. What he saw when he gazed upon me… It left me curious if I'd ever been right about anything.

"I don't want to die," I tell him, almost like a confession. Like I must whisper it as a well kept secret. "My biggest problem has always been my desire to live."

Sam gave a small dip of his chin, "We've buried every friend we've ever had. I can't bury you, Orihime." He was shaking his head, his mouth a hard line, "I can't."

I wove my arms around his shaking shoulders. No tears fell, and I wondered if it was his anger that shook his body. His anger at the Gods, at the world, at the men who'd stolen his friend. And at me; for even having the ability to be taken by death.

I didn't say the words. Didn't make him face that, one day, he would stand over my grave and weep. I had no intention of following him into the afterlife. He had always been destined to out live me.

But I was glad that we had now, that I could hold him as his grief overtook him.

I'd decided that there was nothing wrong with finding your strength in another person. You must fight for yourself, for your beliefs and for your dreams. But if it takes someone being there with you; for you to not be alone. Then I was glad that I had picked someone I was willing to fight for and who would also fight for me.

* * *

 **Sam** :

I waited for Orihime to fall asleep. I sat once more beside her. Her touch, barley a weight on my skin, calming me as much as it calmed her.

I understood her need for contact, the need to be sure she was protected in the dark as she slept. I knew all darkness felt the same to her.

It was hard for me not to think about the pits. So impossibly difficult not to remember where'd I'd been in those weeks. Trotting around the high court's newly 16 and chasing the maids and ladies. I'd given her a few thoughts back then, but it had never occurred to me to be worried.

I wondered if she'd wished for me to hear her screams. If she'd been waiting for me to find her in that black pit. To pick her up and bring her back up into the sun.

She had hated me in the years that followed. Had recoiled from my very presence… I couldn't blame her.

I heard her breath turn even and deep. I took a look over my shoulder and saw her face relaxed into her slumber.

Orihime Inoue, General to the Western Army and the Enforcer of Law. Such a big name, such a heavy responsibility… and she looked so small.

I plucked her hand from my shoulder and turned to face her slowly, never letting her hand drop. Her fingers were long and skinny, feminine despite the cracked knuckles and rough skin. Her wrists were marred with scars long turned white, I ran my finger over them, noticing for the first time how much those scars resembled shackles.

Her arms had their own markings of a life lived during war and tragedies, I remembered some of those injuries. And I knew I had given her a few of them during our youth.

I forced my eyes away.

Orihime's face was soft, unscathed and beautiful. Her lips full and parted in sleep. She looked her age in that moment, looked so young and carefree. And I knew it was because I couldn't see her eyes, the eyes that had been spoken about since the second she was born. It was those eyes that reflected every hardship she'd endured, that showed every swing of the sword she'd been forced to carry.

Orihime Inoue was a warrior. She was a force of nature. And I believed she'd been born only because the Gods had dropped one of their own. Had accidentally let her slip down from the heavens.

And I'd never realized before, in all of our years together, how absolutely broken she was.

I prayed then to those Gods. If it was a warrior they needed, then they could have me. If they needed someone to bleed, then I would rip myself open. And if they needed someone to die...

Then I would kneel before them and smile.

* * *

 **Orihime:**

Days passed in a blur. A blur of people and dinners and meetings. All of the leaders had stayed in the court's, their generals had let themselves into the Center, using its weapons and sparring rings to take the edge off.

And it was there I stood. Looking over the banister as they all fought and laughed and taunted. They'd all known each other for years, had fought beside one another on battlefields long before I was born. And they had never extended an invitation for me to join them. I was young and a woman, both things they seemed to resent.

I didn't mind. Much.

"They know you are stronger, and faster," Said a smooth male voice behind me. "That is why then avoid you." Santos finished as he slid up next to me. Keeping a polite distance, his eyes also on the men below.

I watch him carefully as I say, "Just the spoils of youth."

He nodded, grim. "Before long it will be you and young Elof who are experienced, and you'll look up one day and see the eyes of the inexperienced generals who have replaced the old men, staring down on you."

Is that how I looked? As if I wanted to be apart of them?

"It is likely I will be Queen before that day comes."

Santos slid his cool eyes to me, his posture straight and formal, "If your father allows it."

My jaw flexed and I spoke low, careful of listen ears, "Not even he can escape death."

"It is not him who will need to escape it."

The threat was there, in the spaces between his words. In the tone and the chill I felt creeping over my skin. I pushed off the railing, "It would be wise of you to remember what happened to the last Southern Lord who was foolish enough to threaten me, Santos."

The Lord clasped his hands behind his back, and slid his eyes away, back to the fighting men. "Do not worry, I have learned from my predecessors mistakes." His dark eyes flashed as they glanced at me, lazily, "Have you?"

My father had made many mistakes, and I did not have the energy, or patience, to decide which one he was referring to. Thankfully, he continued before I had time to speak.

"I have been curious why he has married you off to a distance court when you are still so young. When you still have many more battles to fight before you will be crowned. Heirs are usually kept unspoken for until it is their turn to rule, until the need for them to have their own offspring that will one day take their place." He shrugged a shoulder, "Perhaps, since you are the first female Heir in history, your father was unsure of the right course of action."

It hadn't even crossed my mind.

"Or perhaps, his past attempts to kill you while you were a juvenile had proven worthless and now he has set himself onto a new plot." I ground my teeth as I waited for him to continue, knowing he paused only to prove I was in need of his outlook. His experience in such matters. And when he spoke again, I could hear his slight smugness, "Your father has no bride, no one to give him legitimate heirs. And surely you would defeat them once they were old enough for their trials." He didn't seem to doubt that I would do it. Kill my half sibling to keep my title. "Yet if you were to marry, and produce an Heir of your own before you took the throne…"

My own child would be legitimate… would also have Clark's blood. "They could claim the crown."

"And your death would no doubt follow soon after its birth, when you are weak and defenseless."

The pureblood heir Clark had always craved. Half me and half Ryley. Gold and snow.

And the bastard born that had lived despite the odds, the first female Heir… he would claim I had died in childbirth. Claim that my offspring had been too strong of a soul for me to carry. The smear of his name- finally gone from the world.

I didn't want to believe it, didn't want to see the path Santos had laid out before me. "Why am I to believe you?"

"Because I have no reason to lie."

I shook my head, "Your people have everything to gain. To get rid of the general who had burned your capital down."

"I have never blamed you, Orihime Inoue. I know why you did it."

The faces flashed in my eyes. The faces of all the Northern troops I had been stationed with during the war. The people who had screamed and screamed as they were cut down. Who had been slaughtered by southern blades.

"I should have burned your entire culture to the ground. You're all just cowards who slither in the night, who butcher sleeping soldiers and unarmed men."

"The Southern army does not fight at night." Was his simple answer, as if it was the only defense he needed.

I snarled, "You attacked us,"

"Did I?" He said, too calmly. "Tell me, how could enemy forces get near your camp without detection? How did your men not have time to even pick up their sword's before they were cut down? Have you never asked why your father sent you to fight with the Northerners? With not a western face in sight?"

I hadn't. Thinking it was just another way for Clark to shove me down. It couldn't be true- Cuyler had been there. We had fought together with his men and he would have been one of the slaughtered if not for the sudden summons from his father-

I was shaking my head, though deep down I knew. I knew.

"You were suppose to die in the mud. Buried and forgotten with the rest of those foot soldiers, but you returned. And instead it was my city, my people who burned. Clark couldn't touch you then, not when your name echoed across the world. The name of the bastard born Heir, who'd ended the war single handed and returned to her father's side. A rabid beast waiting for orders." Santos chuckled lowly to himself, shaking his head, "It seems you have won many battles you never knew you'd fought."

My mouth felt dry. My shaking knees barely holding me up as questions bubbled up. And Santos knew, Santos waited for me to ask. To prove my inexperience.

I would find my own answers.

I leaned down again, resting my elbows on the bannister, my shoulders slumping in indifference. Calm. Relaxed. "You have given me much to consider."

His eyes were on me, but I didn't look at him again. A dismissal.

Santos merely clasped his hand behind him and spoke clearly, unflinchingly, "Long live the Queen."

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 **Chapter 35... wow can't believe it's been this long. Thank you so much for those who have stuck with this story all this time and who have been reviewing- it means so much and motivates me to never stop with this story. So thank you!**

 **Till next time—**


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

_**Back again! Thanks for your patience waiting for this next chapter, I've been trying my best to get them up as quickly as possible! Your encouragements give me great motivation! So thanks to everyone who reviews!**_

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own a Bleach or any of its characters!_**

 ** _lets hop right in!—_**

* * *

The world had always felt heavy to me. Crushing and impossible. It dragged me down, seeming to think I belonged below the surface, to burn in the underworld forever.

And every step I took echoed through my body, mocking my inability to even die properly.

Years and years I had wondered why I was such a target to the Gods, why they felt the need to punish me at every turn. But it had not been the Gods.

Every horror I'd ever faced, every cut on my body, had been a well orchestrated sham. A means to an end.

A father is meant to protect. To encase their children in a life where no horrors can touch them. Yet I'd been given life by the same person who wanted to rip it out of me.

Such a cruel, twisted world.

The marble around me was a beautiful cage. The people the most skilled guards, hiding in plain sight.

None of them looked at me. They all knew I was insignificant, they all knew my days here had always been numbered.

Blood calls to blood. It's a thumping inside us that ties you to a name, a place. And it called Kisuke to me, it was the only explanation I had for him knowing where to find me.

"It is so loud here," He said, looking up at the marble ceiling, "For a city built on secrets, the walls have a way of echoing every word, every step of its people."

I looked at him, and he looked at me. And we saw each other. Saw the eyes of all those who came before us. We were the only two Inoue's left. The last remnants of a proud and strong family. And he was a stranger.

Kisuke sighed, those eyes heavy, "I can still hear your firstcry as you entered this world. I hear it as I did then, all those years ago, echoing off these very walls." He stared at those walls, remembering. "You were born at dawn. The night had been long and cold- quiet. Lainey's screams the only sound in the world. And when you came you brought the sun with you."

I hadn't even known, that I'd been born in the morning. Or that he'd even been here. I'd pictured it dark and evil. Had assumed it to be a secret, shameful experience.

"I had despised you." I glanced at him, not surprised. "Lainey was my favorite thing in the entire world and yet I hated you, her baby. Because you were half of him. I'd warned her, I'd forbidden it… and she chose him over her home. Her family. And now we would have an angry Madoc spawn in our family tree." His voice broke, shoulders slumping, "And then I saw you. Just a tiny little thing, with a full head of hair and skin like velvet. Still I held onto that hate, I wanted to blame you. Blame you for it all. But when you opened your eyes," He looked into those same eyes. "You looked at me clearly, far too clearly for a newborn, and I felt it. You were one of us. And you were ours. Not his. Not theirs. Ours. I felt in my very bones."

I felt nothing as he continued, voice thick, "Everything was right in those first hours. So right that no one noticed Lainey was still bleeding. She was there one moment, and then suddenly gone. I didn't feel her die, didn't feel the last of my family slip away. But I think you did, you started crying as I held you. Screaming and screaming. You tried to tell me, and I didn't know." Nothing at all. "And I handed you to a maid, picked my sister up and went home. I took her body to Bellator and wrapped her in flowers and silk. I buried her in the gardens she'd loved."

The gardens she had left for my father. For me.

I hated her then.

The her I'd never know. The her who had ignored the signs, who had allowed such a thing to happen.

Lainey Inoue.

She'd given herself the gift of death. The only escape any of us had from my father. And she had left me here. And I blamed her for it.

And I blamed him too.

"You never came back for me." There should have been sorrow in those words. But all I felt was numb. When had I taught myself to cut off emotions such as sadness and devastation? I couldn't remember. It had always been the only thing I had to protect myself.

Kisuke turned himself more toward me, shook his head and defended himself, "I was grieving,"

My voice was thick, "And I was left bleeding in the wake of my father's grief."

Yet it hadn't only been my father that had failed me. It had not been Lainey or Kisuke. And it hadn't been any of the faceless people.

I had failed myself. When I allowed them all to tug me and force me and demand of me. I was not a Madoc and I was not an Inoue. I was not a princess or an Heir. I was nothing and no one. I was everything I had ever wanted to be.

"You are not my family." I breathed, with such an overpowering relief. "And I owe you nothing."

I did not owe Kisuke my loyalty, or my name. I did not owe Bellator my love. I did not owe the Golden City my life or my protection. And I did not owe Clark my future simply because he had given me my past.

But I would give it all. I would offer myself up to protect the innocent lives living in the city. I would scream my name until my voice grew hoarse, to remind Bellator that I was still here and I would find my way home to them. And I would put my father into the ground to thank him for all he had ever done to me.

I was not the Enforcer of Law, or the Iron Fist of the West. I was not the Princess of Destruction or Heir to the Golden Throne.

I was only Orihime Inoue and I no longer wished to be remembered by the names given to me by all the people I had stepped on along the way.

I breathed deeply. Evenly. And realized that I had been hiding myself beneath the water I thought I was drowning in. I'd been using it to keep myself smothered; contained.

I wasn't a storm, a hurricane, a mess.

I was a breathing, raging fire. And I wasn't sure how long I could survive within the flames of my soul. It didn't matter as long as I burned the world down with me.

* * *

Something was different in the next war council. The room was filled now with Generals, Lords and Heirs. Even Ryley was allowed to witness the yelling and the screaming as we all waited for the arrival of my father.

I felt more secure as I took up my place at the end of the table. Arms crossed I scanned the world laid before me, while the others spoke. I didn't bother to count the men in the room, I did not feel threatened by their numbers, their advantages. Not when I could feel the presence and warmth of Sam at my back.

I knew he had tallied each of them, and had noted every weapon in the room.

The trenches of the inbetween slit our world in two. Dividing the West from the East. And stretching between North and South. A black pit that had never been documented or mapped, yet it's bare structure was… magnificent.

"Congratulations on your pending nuptials," a thick voice said to Ryley, who stood a few feet down the table from me, beside his father and brother. "It has been a very long time since a northern born has been wed into the royal line, you should be honored."

I glanced up from my searching and found Ryley easily. He hadn't found me after I'd had to prove myself to his father. I hadn't gone looking for him, though perhaps I should have. I'd wanted to give him time to let it settle. He wasn't a fool, like I'd thought. And I'm sure he had known long before I'd shattered my protective mask, what I was. That who he is to marry will never be soft or docile, and he would be the one who'd likely need my protecting, when all he wanted was someone to embrace and shield.

I felt sorry for him. He deserved someone who could give themselves completely and freely. Who would not shy from his hands or his eyes.

"I do," he said formally, never moving his attention from the board before him. Still I didn't look away.

 _Look at me_.

"It was the South's honor to present Clark with his late wife," Broke in a voice I'd been hoping would keep quiet. "We felt honored as well. Especially with knowing their Heir would also have the scorching blood of the South." I rolled my eyes away from Ryley's face, who also seemed annoyed.

"How'd that work out for you?" I quipped as I looked at Grimmjow.

He'd already been staring, and his eyes were a flash of steel in the dark as he looked me over from head to toe, and then back up again.

He shrugged a shoulder, "You're definitely better to look at then your brothers were. And I'm sure you keep your army men well entertained."

A slow, dark smile pulled at my lips, but it was Sam who snarled, "Watch your rutting mouth."

The threat made Grimmjow chuckle, and glance at his brother who was stone faced beside him, "And how many times has she taken you into _her_ mouth to make you so loyal, soldier?"

Murmuring rose within the crowd. And Sam moved to step around me, likely to reach across the table and grip Grimmjow by the throat but I lifted a hand and he halted mid step.

"If this is how the South gains loyalty then I wonder how your jaw still has the strength to flop around as you speak." I sent a chuckle up at Sam, "A sore mouth would surely explain why your brother allows you to speak for the both of you."

Ulquiorra didn't seem to mind the jab, merely shrugging a shoulder as his brother exploded, "The West should teach their women how to keep their tongue behind their teeth until a man asks for it."

Cuyler's very distinct voice cut in, "And perhaps the South would do well to remember that they are the only region General Inoue has no ties with, and being silent seems wiser than calling her a common whore in the presence of her allies."

Grimmjow threw an observing eye around the room. And he was met with the beautiful faces of Bellator- my long lost home filled with swords and roses. Then the faces of the North- the home of my betrothed and the capitol that I had promised to protect with my life. And then back to me, to the Western Heir who belonged to all of them and yet none of them. And I stood with an army behind my back and a very large, very pissed warrior at my right.

Though I knew none of them would go to war simply because I was insulted, or would even lift a finger if Grimmjow had tried severing my head from my shoulders, I stood taller. Let him think I had the world.

Grimmjow seemed to rethink his position, with his back to the wall, and said no more. Though his defeat was clear.

It was silent only for a moment, before everyone turned back to their own conversations.

It took all I had not to glance to Cuyler, and even more so to shove his involvement in the Northern massacre out of my mind. I did not want to believe it, didn't want to jump to any conclusions simply because Santos had said it to be true.

Though it did make sense. Enough sense that I was starting to believe I'd been ignoring it all these years. Easier to blame the south and the lord I had butchered.

Sam had been silent when I'd asked him for his opinion. Thinking it thoroughly through. Somehow that made it seem even likelier to me. I knew Sam had never had a trust of Cuyler, and had been all too eager to point it out to me at every turn- so for him to think it over carefully… I shook my head clear of it for now.

The door opened and a hush fell over the room. I glanced over lazily, already tired and ready for this to be over. A feeling of cold shot down my spine at the sight of the woman in black strolling casually into the heart of us all.

She was dressed finely, her hair swept back into a complicated braid down her spine. She held herself with a knowing, confident posture that made her body seem long and thin yet powerful.

And I knew that not one man in this room would be looking back to me anytime soon. Not while she sucked the air out of each of their lungs.

None of them seemed to notice the stench that she pulled in with her.

I straightened and subtly stepped closer to Sam, his finger brushed back of my hand and I let out a breath of relief.

As long as he knew who she was then I did not feel so completely alone.

"So sorry to keep you boys waiting," Her voice rang like soft bells. "Your king sends his regards, and also me in his place." Her eyes searched the room in a way that made her seem at ease, but I felt that flicker in her gaze as it met mine. I felt it clear across the room. "The duties of a leader never seem to slow, as I'm sure you are all well aware."

They murmured together. Just a soft hum of words softly spoken in agreement. I looked at Kisuke, his face turned fully from me. Then to Cuyler and Ryley- both just the same. And when I tore my gaze away, to look again at the silhouette painted in black, she was waiting for my attention.

"Shall we begin?" The woman asked.

The murmuring sounded once more.

She smiled, all teeth. A wolf, starving, with a herd of willing sheep.

Though one sheep spoke out, most unexpectedly, "And who are you?" Ulquiorra stepped up beside his brother, almost seeming to shield his twin with his own body. "And why has the King given you authority to speak on his behalf?"

I gave Ulquiorra the credit he deserved for not shrinking under the weight of her full attention, though I saw the slight twitch in his shoulders, and the sudden clenching of his fists. "Ulquiorra," The witch purred her black eyes glazing, "Interesting." She turned away without any further acknowledgement.

She spoke to me now, "General Inoue can authenticate my position with her father and her king if you should need it. Though I must admit I'm unused to having a face a man does not trust."

Ulquiorra turned his head, waiting. I gave him a nod, "She's who she claims. We will let her speak."

His posture loosened, though he did not step back into the shadows, he kept his feet planted beside his brother- who was unusually quiet. They all were.

"I am here to say but a few things. And you are all but to listen." She cleared her throat dramatically. "The King demands you all to return to your homes and secure any abled soldiers you find within your territories. He will then expect detailed reports of every man," she cut me a clear look. "And woman of fighting age and stature."

Shocked, I waited for the calm to break. Waited for the outrage. Only Bellator had allowed women into their armies and that was fairly new; Kisuke being the only ruler with enough courage to change sexist tradition. The North, I suppose, simply did not have enough woman of fighting age for it have ever been a discussion. Here in the West, I had tried to persuade my father many, many times, and he had not budged- even considering his own General was female, he still believed we didn't belong in battle, belong anywhere really. And the South…

Grimmjow did not say a word, he merely stood there with a soft, gleeful smile on his face. Even Ulquiorra watched him with confusion, his brows pulling together as he frowned.

Drafting women into battle, I was not opposed to it. I would train them all myself if I had to. Perhaps then I would feel well equipped in this war.

"Once you have returned home, you will await your orders and prepare yourselves. The severity of his Majesties expectations can not be overstated. That is all I have the liberty to demand. I will leave you now to discuss your travels amongst yourselves."

We watched one another as she backed out of the room. Each step she took felt like it shuttered down my body. When she cleared the threshold, she paused, her mouth sneaking into a wide smile before the door slammed shut between us.

A leash was broken. Suddenly, the quietness of the room shifted. First it was the shuffling of boots as someone readjusted their weight. Then a ruffle of fabric as someone breathed in deeply.

Finally, the shouting began.

Men all yelling at one another, trying to out match their opponent in volume alone.

I tilted my head to look at Sam and his jaw was a ridged, his mouth a hard line.

So much to consider with so little to go off of.

A hand tugged my arm, and I turned. Ryley was inches away from my face, and even then I struggled to make out his words amongst the chaos, "What the hell is going on?" He demanded. And I wished I had an answer to give him. "That woman, she was the one from before- who is she to your court?"

Another question I could not answer. Not in the way he wanted, or expected. "She is of little concern to us." I tried to soothe him. But the hardening in his onyx eyes told me he did not believe it. Good, it meant he was learning.

I leaned in closer, brushing my cheek against his, and spoke into his ear, "Stay close to your brother, Ryley. I'll find you if I discover the answers you need."

I went to pull back, to turn towards Sam and signal our departure, but suddenly my lips were encased.

Ryleys kiss was quick and curt. Over before it had even fully began. And no one seemed to notice the first intimacy between us, even Sam had looked away. "Find me regardless." His mouth seemed to be saying.

I only nodded before working my way through the room, shoving and ducking through everyone in my path.

I knew where to begin my search for answers. And as I walked through the halls towards my father's wing, I realized I had yet to see my target since he had held me upright during my whipping.

It seemed Devon Westbrook had a lot to look forward to.

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 _ **Thanks for reading! And for the patience ^.^**_

 _ **Please let me know how you think this story is progressing!**_

 _ **Till next time—**_


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**_Hey everyone! Glad to see everyone has been enjoying the last few chapters! My laptop broke so I've been doing all my writing on my phone for the past few weeks so I'm sorry that it's taking me a little longer to update but I appreciate your patience!_**

 ** _Some if you might have noticed the beautiful new cover for this story! It's our badass Orihime Inoue, Heir to the Golden Throne! Drawn by talented Yuuto!_**

 ** _DISCLAIMER: I don't NOT own Bleach or any of its characters_**

 ** _lets hop in—_**

* * *

"Have you thought this through?" Sam stressed on my right, seeming to have trouble keeping up with me, though his legs where half the height of my entire body.

"I think everything through,"

"Yes, I'm aware. It's usually very annoying." He rested a hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it off. He scoffed, "Devon isn't going to tell you anything, you know that. I'm surprised he didn't walk out of his mother spewing speeches of loyalty and obedience."

I was nearing "I'm his general, and his Heir, he will tell me what I need to know." I didn't care what I had to say, or do.

"Perhaps he will," Sam agreed, "but what then? What happens when Devon runs to Clark? What happens when your father starts to wonder where your curiosity is sprouting from? What will the answers you receive cost us?"

I continue walking, though my pace slowed.

Sam spoke carefully, as if reasoning with a child coming down from a tantrum. "We must tread lightly, for now. We will get information in bits, as our training has taught us." He reached for me again and this time, I halted. "I get it. I'm pissed too. But the ground beneath our feet is unsteady and our heads are easily detached."

I turned toward him, hands shaking, "We do not have time. I leave in only two days, and I will not leave the capitol with that woman slithering through its foundation."

Fear. That's what it was that set my heart unsteady and flipped my stomach. Was it fear for my people, my companions, or for myself? I didn't know. All I knew was that I was fighting the urge to bury my head in the sand and let the witch have the world.

Rutting coward.

Sam was speaking, somewhere in a far away land of courage. "I'll speak to Devon. See what I can get out of him." He shrugged. "He won't think anything of me asking about the pretty girl on the king's arm."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and nodded. I opened my mouth, to thank him but I suddenly felt a chill creep up the back of my neck.

I grabbed a hold of his collar and yanked him down. "I need a moment alone."

His brow furrowed, then he glanced over my head, his eyes turning cruel, his jaw going taunt. I felt his chin tap the top of my head as he nodded, just once.

I could see the tension in Sam's entire body as he passed Grimmjow. And even a blind man could see the restraint in his body as he kept his instinct to marr and protect at bay.

I took a deep, clearing breath as Grimmjow threw a backwards glance at my friend. I relaxed my posture with my exhale, letting my face slide into a look of pure indifference as Grimmjow turned his gaze to me. It worked down my body, and I swallowed down the disgust.

"Your control over him is baffling. But admirable." He said coming to a stop in front of me. A casual, respectable distance. That wouldn't do.

A smile lifted the corner of my mouth, "Every Heir must have a loyal watchdog." The words were ash in my mouth, "it only helps he's so pleasing in other ways."

Grimmjows teeth clinked, but he pushed passed the possessive pulse in his body, "Is that all it takes to conquer you?"

"Warrior men are admirable in their own right. Their stamina…" I let him take what he wanted as I trailed off. I gave a shake of my head, seeming to think better of finishing it.

His feet shuffled only an inch closer, maybe even two, "I wonder if warrior women can say the same."

Looking up under my lashes I breathed, "Haven't come across many of those, have you?"

That smirk was suppose to give me sultry thoughts, "Only the one."

It was spoken as a compliment. Meant to inform me of my uniqueness. But it made my chest burn with repressed anger. How many future soldiers had he pushed into dresses and sewing and motherhood. How many women had tried to join his armies, how many had been willing to give their lives only to feel the rush of swinging steel and iron.

It wasn't right that I was the only one. It did not make me different or special. It made me angry.

And just like every other emotion I've ever felt, I pushed it down. Shoving it down between my ribs to be called up when I was alone. When I could rage and break things in my fury.

All the while, the smile had never left my face.

"Men," I scoff, "Always craving the unknown. It's a thirst that brings them to war and devastation. I wonder which you'd be willing to face for a taste of my flesh."

I could feel his breath on my forehead now. Could nearly feel his chest against my own. I lifted my face higher, giving him access, shall he work up the courage.

Do not clench your teeth. Do not cringe.

"I've faced war before, and for far less. Let your pretty fiancé come. He was a fool for thinking you belonged only to him, and in battle the fool is always the first to fall." He brushed his nose against my skin, "But you should know that, Heir of gold."

My blood chilled. Perhaps bringing war into this had been a mistake, it was hard to keep a clear head with swarming memories of blood drenched ground and screams for mercy that were silenced with a flash of steel.

I let it bleed into me; the fire and the numbness. This was a battle as well. And I would not lose to him.

My tongue grazed the back of my jaw.

"All think they are eternal, General. And our world has been built on the ruins of cities who'd forgotten that Morta comes for us all." I brought my hand up, slowly working my fingers up his arm. "When my death comes, I intend to deserve it."

The capsule broke free from my gums.

His breathing had gone haggard as I pressed myself against him. Running on pure male instinct, he pushed me roughly against the wall, and I nearly growled with that show of dominance. But I allowed it. His mouth rushed toward mine, but I pulled back. Not yet.

"Tell me you want it," I gasp against his throat, "The blood and the ruin; tell me you accept it."

Come on. Say the words.

I could feel Grimmjows heart hammering in his chest, and could hear his arousal in his hard tone, "I accept it all."

Smiling, I broke the capsule between my teeth, gripped him by the face and slammed our mouths together.

Grimmjow was wild and ravenous. His hands were on my hips, in my hair. They were groping me through my uniform, pressing me to him in a rush of mouths and hands and bodies.

I endured it all, focusing my entire attention to our lips. Ignoring that I could still feel Ryleys soft show of affection. I didn't let myself think about what kind of person this made me.

I brought my tongue into Grimmjows mouth, and he moaned. I wondered if he noticed the wicked taste of apple on my tongue as I gave him as much of the tonic as I could.

I wonder if he noticed my hand on his throat, making sure he swallowed. I wonder if his complex male mind detected even a hint of something amiss.

Judging by the increasing hardness against my abdomen, I was assuming not.

When I could no longer taste the tonic, when all it was between us was tongues and lips and roaming hands, I shoved his chest away.

Grimmjows eyes were hooded but confused. His hands still outreached towards me. I dipped under his arm, and walked down the hall.

"Where are you going?" He called over to me.

I let an evil laugh escape, "Back to my pretty fiancé. It seems all I can think of is Northern hands and fur lined sheets." I threw him a look over my shoulder, his hand rested on the wall I had just inhabited, the other clenched into a fist at his side as he breathed deep. "Thanks for clarifying my curiosity. Now if you excuse me, I need to go make myself one with the North."

He cursed after me. I threw my head back and laughed.

Men were so easy.

* * *

There was a part of me, perhaps young and nearly forgotten, that remembered what it was like to be blissfully unburdened. To sit in a room, uninterrupted, for hours at a time.

Such a small luxury to crave. Yet one that also seemed so undeniably selfish. To find time for yourself as the world collapsed around you. Though I suppose the world had ended and began again numerous times, so what difference did a few hours make, really?

Six hours and forty-seven minutes to be exact.

I simply sat in the silence for a while, just savoring the distinct noise that came from the world below the High Court. I breathed in the air that drifting through my open windows and let myself enjoy the breeze.

I sat on the ground just before my open balcony doors, feeling the sun on my skin. With a book in my lap and a lightness in my chest.

I thought of things I hadn't in a very long time. Some good and some not. Of the things that were a part of me and the things I'd had forced upon me. They had melted together over time, and I found that I could not pry the pieces apart- not that I tried very hard.

The only things I didn't allow myself to remember where the things waiting outside my bedroom door.

The world and problems that I'd shut behind the old oak were not welcome in here. In my safe spot of sunlight and literature.

Yet, the sun, eventually, slipped over the horizon. And the city below become nothing but spots of light from lanterns and candles.

I missed the warmth of the sun right away. I missed the sense of safeness it gave me, false as it was. But I found that I enjoyed the quiet the moon brought in. The eerie feeling that time had somehow stopped and the sun would never come again.

It was beautiful in its own way.

I was lighting the candles, spewed around the room, my back turned to the night sky, when he came.

"A man shouldn't come to a ladies room in the dark. What will the people think?" I quipped, not bothering to turn.

Ichigo's laugh tumbled through the quiet, seeming to slip right through it as if it belonged. "If they were to think anything, it would be that I've come to assassinate you. No man would ever slip through your window expecting anything else but violence."

I ignored the sting enough to say, "Then should I be worried that I'm unarmed?"

"As if you'd need a weapon,"

I blew out the match, turning to him. Ichigo leaned against the doorframe, the moon illuminating behind him like a beacon. "You held your own well enough to make even me worry."

I couldn't tell through the glow but I heard something like a smile in his voice, as he shook his head slightly. "Luck rarely strikes twice. You've calculated my technique now. If we were to dance again, well, perhaps it's best we don't find out."

I circled the room, drawing closer. "I didn't know you could be modest."

Ichigo crossed his arms over his chest, an act of deflection, or to protect his vulnerable heart within, I wasn't sure. "Modesty is for Kings and Tailors, for which I am neither. It's no insult to say I would lose to someone who's trained their entire life in combat."

"Have you considered that those who believe themselves untouchable are usually the most exposed of them all?"

"Of course I have." I opened my mouth, but he pressed on, "Though, you, Princess, are hyper aware of everything and everyone around you. No one reaches for the wolf whose teeth are bared and bloody."

A flash of marble and blood and a handkerchief of cotton. "Is that what's kept you away?"

It hadn't escaped my notice. That within the past few days Ichigo's eyes had vanished and the shadows surrounding me had been uninhabited.

He pushed off the doorframe, his arms going slack at his sides, "A little blood never scared me any." He looked over his shoulder, out at the dark sky, before bringing his eyes back to me. "I figured you deserved some time. To sort through it all."

I remembered, very vividly, the darkness I'd felt. The anger and the hatred and the immense need for…

I sat myself on the edge of the bed, back rigid. "Why now, then?"

"You made the transfer."

I blinked, "How did you," The witch. I forgot he wasn't alone in there. Inside his head. "It had to be done."

Ichigo stepped into the room, "I know,"

Surprised, I could only stare at him. While he ran a hand over the wall as he neared.

"Why the sudden change of heart?"

"An inside man to watch the king's movements while your away? It was always the wise choice." I glared up at him, and he chuckled. "I was only trying to protect you."

I glared harder, "All you men. Always looking down on me from your white horses." Insufferable. Truly.

"It was never about that." Ichigo argued. He dropped to a knee before me, and I nearly withdrew. Not liking the sudden sense of familiarity. I forced my body still, letting him look deep into my eyes. "Sam can protect your body just fine on his own. He can watch your back far better than I ever could." Ichigo reached his hand up. Slowly, giving me time to pull away, he ran a solitary finger over my forehead. Drawing a path to my temple, tapping it gently. "I'm more concerned about protecting this. You've done a very poor job of it all these years, and so I've taken the responsibility onto myself."

The pad of his finger was soft as it slide down my temple to my cheek, it traced the bone there. "She can see it now. Your thoughts and your memories. I asked her not to look- you've earned your privacy- but Rukia is young by her people's standards. She doesn't always have control of what she sees- or takes."

I gulped. "And what has she taken from you?"

Ichigo's eyes were bright in the darkness. "We all have our demons, Princess. And I know you guard yours as trusted allies. I didn't want you to ever have to worry about looking one day and finding claw marks down their backs."

I took a deep breath, and he withdrew his touch. "Let her see them. I do not feel ashamed."

He nodded, adamant. "Good. You never had any reason to be."

I thought of his mother and her drunken acts of aggression, and wondered if that was when he developed a love for broken things.

"I leave for the North soon." I tell him. "I don't know exactly how long I will be gone, or if I will even return." It seemed Sam and Cuyler's fears had rubbed off on me. "You and Bronze need to stay far away from this place. Stay inside the lower rim and, by the Gods, don't do anything stupid."

I didn't appreciate the wicked grin he gave me, "Afraid I'll rummage through your drawers?"

"I don't know, do you have a death wish?" He rolled his eyes, "There's something else I need you to do for me." His face instantly sobered.

I'd been trying not to think about Hisagi. Had tried to pretend he didn't walk the halls of the court's every morning, pretended he didn't still show up to his training in the Center twice a day.

Sam had been sure to avoid the topic. I did not know whether or not that meant he agreed with me.

All I knew for sure was that I didn't want Hisagi anywhere near the woman in black, or the Southerners. Especially not after today's events.

Ichigo agreed too quickly when I asked for him to keep an ear to the ground, and his eyes on Hisagi's back. I was about to comment on it when Ichigo said, "Will you follow me somewhere?"

I hesitated, if only for a moment before standing.

Ichigo near his way around the High Court's by now. He maneuvered through the maze like halls effortlessly. I would have felt some sort of respect if not for the fact that he'd learned the routes due to following my every step for weeks.

"Are you excited for your trip?"

I was instantly suspicious at the attempt at small talk, yet still I answered slowly, "Not particularly,"

"I hear the mountains are beautiful this time of year,"

I scoffed, "Yes because stone changes with the climate."

Ichigo shook his head at me, seeming disappointed, "Always the cynic."

We were nearing our destination now, and I already knew where we were before we reached the doors. Ichigo entered the Center a few steps before me, and an excited voice rose up to meet him.

"Bought time you showed up,"

I knew the voice. Knew it like I knew my own. It began to speak again, taunting Ichigo in a weird tone of comfort. The words trailed off as I stepped up to the railing.

Looking over it I peered down into the fighting ring, where Hisagi stood holding a long spear, his head tilted back to look up at us.

He smiled crookedly, and gave me a slight wave with his spear, "General,"

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 ** _finally Ichigo is back! It's been killing me- literally killing me- to keep my ichihime babies away from each other but Ichigo just had to go and be all protective and give our Hime time to heal a little before throwing his love attack on her. I couldn't talk him out of it._**

 ** _Till next time—_**


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**Hello again! Finally the next chapter is up, though I'm sorry it is pretty short even by my standards but I really liked where it ended and figured that it was better this way.** **Thank you for your patience!**

 **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.**

 **Lets jump in—**

* * *

Ichigo let Hisagi explain. The young boy was nearly buzzing inside his own skin. His tone cracking at times as he stumbled over his words in his excitement.

It seemed Ichigo had sought out Hisagi nearly immediately after their first meeting- after Ichigo beat me nearly to unconsciousness. And they had been training in secret ever since.

Ichigo crossed his arms as I turned to him, he waited patiently for me to react. And I could tell from the tightness in his stance that he was not expecting it to be pleasant.

I did not speak. Did not know what words to say. I looked at him, feeling nearly lost.

"Why?" The word slipped out softly and tenderly. It stopped Hisagi fidgeting and allowed Ichigo to relax.

"I don't need a reason to help someone." He shrugged, as if indifferent. But his averted gaze spoke the truth far clearer than his words ever could.

Hisagi, seeming eager for my attention, said, "Ichigo has been patient with me, Orihime. I've learned a lot through our sessions."

I gave him a small smile, "Oh is that right? Show me what you've learned." Nerves flashed in his eyes and he threw a glance at the man beside me, who just lifted a arched brow and gave him a 'what are you waiting for' hand motion.

Not needing any more encouragement, Hisagi lunged. But not with his body, that had grown strong and sturdy. It was his spear that sliced through the air, aimed right for my throat.

At the last moment, where he would have killed me with a clean strike to the windpipe, Hisagi hesitated.

My hand snapped up to wrap around the wood frame of his weapon and yanked it to the side, holding it steady, even as he pulled in an attempt to free my grip.

Hisagi watched me as I grinned. "Look at little Hisagi, going straight for the throat."

But Hisagi was not looking at me, he was not watching my feet or my grip on his weapon. His eyes were behind me. Locked into the shadow that slumped up my neck and settled in my spine.

I dropped the spear right as Ichigo lunged.

I just barely slipped free of his grasp, no doubt as he had anticipated. For Hisagi was already there, attempting to trap me in the embrace of his long arms. Which I scarcely avoided.

Neither allowed me to properly steady myself between advances.

They moved together seamlessly. Almost as if they were herding me towards one another. Neither could get close enough to touch me, I made sure of that, but I could feel myself stumbling. That heavy feeling of being backed into a corner clouding my mind.

Any attempt I made to shift the edge of power into my favor was halted immediately and then I would struggle to even remain on my feet as they retaliated.

Heart pounding, throat seeming to close as I began to lose whatever form of self defense I had left.

And with a flash of memory- Hisagi was no longer Hisagi and Ichigo was no longer Ichigo. They were faceless shadows. A looming and soul wrenching threat that made my very soul quake.

My back connected with stone. And with nowhere left to retreat, my entire body, my mind and everything inside it, screamed:

Never again.

It was a thought that clanged through me. Vibrating down my spine and settling in my toes like a bolt of lightning.

My body was its own protector, and it did not need my minds assistance as it rushed forward.

One moment, I was prey. Back to the wall. Throat ready to be split.

And the next-

I kicked Ichigo's leg out from under him, he stumbled, his face nearly connecting against the wall behind me. It was an opening, small and closing quickly.

Without Ichigo's reassuring presence, Hisagi became unsure. Unbalanced and out matched. I advanced on him, and he stumbled back. His feet catching on themselves. And with not even a touch from me he crashed to the ground.

Suddenly, before I could even think to attack, two twin arms wound around me. Crushing me to a solid chest. Ichigo squeezed until I could hardly breathe in a strangled gasp.

Hisagi was already up, and as Ichigo lifted me clear off the ground, Hisagi reached for my legs. And I knew the moment he secured them, this fight would be over. I flailed, kicking and struggling.

"Just submit," Ichigo growled into my ear. The strain of holding me steady evident in his tone.

No sooner as the words left his tongue, I hauled both legs up and kicked Hisagi firmly in the chest. Shoving myself back against my capture with every last remnant of defiance in me. I only knew when Ichig's back hit the stone wall by the rush of hot breath at my ear as the wind cleaved out of him.

I threw my head back, not knowing, or caring what part of his face it connected with- or that my own head spun. All that mattered was his arms loosening their ironclad hold.

Breaking free, I heaved my elbow back into his stomach. I had no clue if it did him any damage, for I was already throwing myself at Hisagi's approaching form, we both slammed into the centers floor, a cloud of dust flying up around us.

I was already above him, my foot at his throat, pinning him to the soot, before the dirt cover cleared.

I stared down at him, daring him to attempt an advance. He didn't. "You have learned well enough." I admit, "But wars are not fought in pairs. What will become of you when the battle lines are split and you are alone." It wasn't a question. We both knew exactly what it would bring. "Learn to protect yourself, with nothing but your bare hands, or it will all be for nothing."

Keeping my foot to his jugular, I turned my head to his mentor, "You should not be encouraging such behavior."

Ichigo looked on from his position against the wall. With crossed arms, he shrugged, "We were just implementing a newly learned strategy."

I scoffed, "What strategy would that be?"

But it wasn't Ichigo who answered. Though I'm sure he had a smart remark thoroughly planned.

No, the response to my mocking question was given to me as I slammed into the unforgiving ground, back spasming as it's newly healed wounds screamed out.

Hisagi grinned over me as I winced, "It's called a hustle."

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 **And there it is! Would this be considered a cliffhanger? Probably not but oh well let's pretend shall we?**

 **Till next time—**


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

_**Welcome back! Was this a fast update? I can't even tell anymore. I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.**_

 _ **Warning: Adult themes**_

 _ **Let's jump in-**_

* * *

"I don't need you worrying about me," Hisagi said, smugly from his standing position above me. "I'm not some fragile thing incapable of defending itself."

And it was the sheer arrogance, the little smirk that mirrored Ichigo's casual confidence effortlessly, that made me growl.

I didn't look at his feet as I swung my own leg out at them. Swooping them right out from under him. He landed hard, much harder due to his sudden size and mass.

"The fact you think so, really only proves how much you still have to learn." I extended him a hand up.

He took it with a grimace, "Can't you just admit that I've improved? I knocked you down."

"Your improvement can not be solely measured in knocking _me_ on my back."

Hisagi glared at his feet, appearing once again as the young boy I remembered him to be. He grumbled under his breath, "More than anyone else has ever done."

Ichigo opened his mouth but I cut him off. Slapping a hand on Hisagi's shoulder, baffled by how odd it was that I now had to reach up to do so, "But I am proud of how far you've come since I last saw you. It seems you have found a teacher with the patience and skill to properly teach you."

I met eyes with Ichigo and I could only hope he saw the truth in my words. Hope that he realized the magnitude of the debt I now owed him. His face softened and he just lifted the corner of his mouth in answer.

"Now," Hisagi said in way of answer, "you can focus on what matters. Though I'll still miss you while you're gone."

I didn't mention that his life still mattered a great deal, or that I would still worry. I wasn't sure if not voicing it made me strong. Perhaps it was such a grave weakness of mine; To never say what I mean. Either way, the words did not leave my hectic mind.

On my way back to my rooms I thought about it. I thought back on the points in my life when words had formed within me but had been too difficult to say.

"When do you leave again?" Ichigo asked from beside me. I glanced sideways at him, he seemed relaxed enough. Pace slowed to match mine, hands resting in his thick pockets.

"Day after tomorrow."

"When do you think you'll be back?"

I shrugged, "Two months, maybe more. It's hard to say, when I'm not sure what I will find there." I paused, then said, "Ryley is excited to show me his home. He's been buzzing about it since before we decided to go." We reached my door and Ichigo pushed through it without a second thought.

"And Sam hasn't convinced you in letting him come along?" He asked, falling into a wide reading chair. I slipped into the one across from his, swinging my legs over the armrest and settled in.

"No, he will be busy caring for things here. A general can not take her commander with her wherever she goes. The only time Sam and I will ever leave these walls together is when we march for war."

"You two have know each other awhile?"

"Since we were children. His father, Simon, is a diplomat. He travels often when my father needs to get word to the other leaders. Sam says he's in the South now, attempting to assist with the transfer of crops."

Ichigo laughed, "Sam is the son of a diplomat? How did he escape the hold of politics to become a soldier?"

We were nearing very sensitive terrain. "Sam can be very persuasive."

Ichigo didn't miss a beat, "But he's older than you, isn't he? How did you end up in the same recruiting class?"

I sighed deeply, "I started my training far younger than the usual recruiting age, so I was 14 when the next drafting brought in other trainees. Sam was one of the few boys who made it through our trials, and we rose through the ranks together. And after the Southern war, when I became general, I promoted him to be my commander."

Ichigo took a moment to consider his next words carefully, "Was it hard for him? To suddenly be below you in rank?"

Huffing out a laugh, I met his eyes, "While we were new to our military lives, we had already known one another for years- basically since my infancy. He hardly seemed to notice my rank as Heir then, let alone adding on the measly title of general."

"It isn't measly. You earned that rank through blood and sacrifice. You earned it despite your age, despite your gender. The first female to ever become Heir, the first to enter into the golden army, and now you're the leader of all the men who sneered at the mere thought of you being one of them. Be proud of it. Wear it with honor."

He held my gaze, held it with as much honor as he demanded me to hold for myself. "Did you ever consider it? Joining the Bellatonian army?"

Surely it would have offered him an out with his mother. And would have secured him a livable wage. But Ichigo was shaking his head, "I'd make a lousy soldier."

I thought back to the night of my jump from the wall. When we had stumbled upon truly bad soldiers. I could recall with a striking clarity the look on his face that night. The anger at the injustice, at the abuse of power. And how he had not even hesitated to step out of that alley way to protect that boy. I had seen terrible soldiers, had been raised up around them, and I knew he could never be like them.

I could have told him as much, but instead I said, "Yet you joined Bonnie's army."

"I joined her cause. Not her army."

"Is there any difference between the two?"

Ichigo lifted his head from his cushion, gripping the armrests tightly between his fingers, "There is a vast difference between choosing to fight for something you believe in, and fighting because some lord you've never met decided it's a cause he's willing to let you die for."

I could hear the slight edge of accusation in his voice, and I could understand the hostility. "Do you believe Kisuke would send young men out to die?"

He nodded, if a bit solemnly, "Kisuke wants to be remembered as a great man. And great men are not remembered by staying neutral."

"And what of great women? How are they to be remembered." I paused. Giving him time to think back on history, to think of a woman who was remembered for anything other than giving birth to his great men. And when he stayed silent, I continued, "Perhaps I will be the first in that category too. And I will continue to fight to ensure that I will not be the last."

"That is another cause I would gladly join, Princess. My sword is yours whenever you decide to march on the dictators of this world."

I smiled, "I think my female warriors would be very happy indeed to welcome you."

His trademark smirk overtook his entire face, and he chuckled from somewhere deep in his belly, "You'll have to protect my honor, then."

"I'd need to find it first."

His chucking turned into cackles, "Don't tell me Bronzes teasings have warped your vision of me?"

"Don't think I have forgotten about all of your Bellatonian admirers. I don't believe for a moment that it was only flowers you gave them."

Ichigo's eyes sparkled as he shot back, "Been thinking about that a lot have you?"

I rolled my eyes, "The mere thought of it gave me terrible nightmares. I should claim emotional distress."

He brought a hand up to his chest in mock shock, "Are these the things that keep honorable princesses awake at night? I truly had no idea, perhaps I should wear baggier clothing to better prevent these dreams you have of me."

"Nightmares," I corrected, my feet swinging back and forth, heels thumping against the side of my chair again and again.

"Yes, my attractiveness can be quite frightening to an untrained eye." Ichigo winked.

"If that is what you need to believe in order to come to terms with the shrieking of the townsfolk as you pass by." I replied.

Ichigo laughed with me for a moment and then his humor faded off slightly, he stared at me from across our little space. "So have you and Sam ever…" he trailed off suggestively. Waving a hand vaguely in front of him.

I shook my head, trying not to think of Grimmjow's words from earlier today, trying not to remember his touch that had seared my skin in shame. "You may have the courage, or stupidity, to poke a sleeping dragon but Sam is not as willing to risk the flames if he would ever attempt it and be denied."

That didn't seem to offer Ichigo the answer he was seeking, "And if he ever did attempt such an act of bravery, would you meet him with acceptance or refusal?"

In truth, I had never considered it. Sam had been in my life since before I could remember. He had watched me grow up, had watched me suffer and shiver in the cold embrace of my father's shadow, and even when he had reached the peak of his adolescence, when he had no doubt laid with ever girl in the high court's of proper age and attractiveness he had never laid a single finger on me. Had joked about it, and I had noticed at least a few times his wandering eye, but he had never truly attempted it.

Ichigo was growing restless as I pondered, and I was almost tempted to lie just to make him squirm some more. "Sam would never degrade our friendship with such an advance, but if he ever did, no, I would not accept him."

I wondered, briefly, if I would ever come to accept any man that way. If I could ever look past the dark scar I hold within me. For if I could not trust Sam, my companion through every hardship, my comrade in war and politics, to hold his weight over me, to only take what I willingly give, if I could not yield myself to _him_ completely, who else could I possible trust?

I wanted to say it, to tell Ichigo about the slumbering feeling of crippling fear, but saying it out loud would bring me one step closer to being consumed by it.

And I already knew that I would be offered up to Ryley as a prized mare. For him to do with as he would. I would need to produce the Heir that would replace me once Clark comes for my head.

I looked at Ichigo, and he waited for me to say the words that had weighed down the air between us. "If you had been born a prince," I began slowly, "If you knew that your people, and your country depended entirely on you doing something that makes your entire body revolt in disgust. Would you be able to make such a sacrifice?"

Ichigo deliberated, and answered just as slowly, "I wish I could say that I would. That I would have the strength to put so many other lives above my own happiness, but I've come to establish the selfish belief that I have suffered enough and I deserve to take all the happiness I was starved of when I was young." He pursed his lips slightly, "But such a thing is easy for me to say in hypotheticals. I have never known, and will never know, the difficulties of ruling. I do not envy you in the slightest."

The squeezing in my chest yielded slightly, like a loosening of a tightly clenched fist. "Maybe instead I should just let the world go to hell."

Ichigo clicked his tongue, "Now, don't say that."

"Why not?" I huffed in defiance, "What has the world ever done for me?"

Ichigo nodded in understanding, an understanding that he had developed just as youngly as I had. Though there was a difference between us; Ichigo had found his way out. He had found the strength to leave behind his torments, and his tormentor. "Maybe it isn't about what the world can do for us, maybe we save the world just to see what it can one day do for someone else."

Ichigo was very wise when it came to others. Nearly ancient in his optimism. But he was blind when it came to his view of himself. His words of sacrificing being only for rulers had already been proven wrong.

For I know the weight of a nation looking to you for protection, I know the responsibility of thousands of lives depending on the words of a king. And yet, despite all that, despite him never knowing that crushing weight, Ichigo was willing to sacrifice all the happiness he had sought out- that he had taken for himself- all so the world could see a brighter day.

I was thankful that a man such as him existed. And I was glad that Ichigo would never rule a country, for all of the lords and King's and diplomats I'd met could have never envisioned such a selfless world.

 _ **.**_

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 _ **I'm so happy to finally have a nice chapter with Ichihime. It's hard for me to have them be apart even if it helps the plot... but nevertheless that's it for chapter 39! Only one more chapter and my story will be middle aged!**_

 _ **Thank you for reading and hopefully I'll see you next chapter!**_

 _ **Till next time—**_


	40. Chapter Forty

**_Dang, it has been awhile. I just moved out on my own and it's been a hectic few weeks, hopefully some of you are still out there._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its character but the story does belong to me._**

 ** _Lets jump in-_**

* * *

I dreamed inside a hollow sky. A sky that moved around me in a whirlwind of clouds and storms. The gods all watched as I rose, high enough to be one of them, high enough to touch their golden gates. They all smiled as I ascended. They all cheered.

Ares, God of war, raised his sword in my honor.

Aphrodite, goddess of love, bowed her head in apology.

Zeus himself striked his lightning down to make the entire earth below us quake.

But it was the grin of Morta that made me swell, that had me laughing.

Only she could appreciate the pedestal in which I stood. On which I rose. Looking down I saw the faces of every person I'd slaughtered. The faces of every comrade fallen while I had lived. And the bodies I now stood atop, the latest betrayed, the latest conquered, the faces of Sam, of Bonnie, of Ichigo.

The Gods continued to cheer, roaring to finally have me back, to finally welcome me home as I stepped off the mountain of my dead, that stretched clear into the cosmos.

* * *

It was the cold that brought me from sleep. The chill from something cold and wet beside me, soaking into the sheets.

Thunder crashed outside my window, lightning illuminating the world in white as I blinked my tired eyes awake. Turning to a shivering Bonnie, laying with dripping clothes and hair on the pillow beside mine.

Her eyes were open, and she breathed in deeply as I moved to sit up, "I thought you would seek me out before you left," she said, cold evident in the rattling of her teeth. "Like you sought out the others. It is why I have stayed away. I wanted to remember what it was like to have you come find me."

As I had found her all those years ago. In the darkness of night.

I dug the balls of my palms into the aching of my eyes. "I have no plans to feed to your adolescent ego."

She was quiet as the storm raged. And so we both sat in that silence, tired and cold. And then, "You are different than I thought you'd be."

I gazed down at her over my shoulder, and she seemed so incredibly small, curled in on herself for warmth. "Putting your faith into other people often leads to disappointment."

I rose, shoving the sheets from my body. I felt her attention on me as I filled the fireplace with fresh logs and ignited it into flames. I stood before the rising heat, staring into the flickering fire, and could pretend to see the shapes of people in the smoldering ash.

Bonnie spoke from behind me, "You were suppose to take me under your wing. You were suppose to teach me all that you know."

"You assumed I knew anything worth teaching." The only skills I had were to lie and forget.

"All of the stories… they had painted you differently." She spoke clearly now, the warmth of the fire reaching her at last. "In those stories, on those battlefields, you were unstoppable, to those king's you were merciless."

"I was young then. And hungry."

"For glory?"

I shook my head, turning, "I never sought glory."

The red of her hair seemed to be a fire in its own, the green of her eyes sparkling, "And yet still you found it."

Perhaps it was my dream, still fresh in my mind that made me say: "Glory and stolen blood, I wonder when we began to think of them as one in the same." And perhaps it was the thought of Ichigo that made me continue, "People had called me a hero, yet refused to speak of the heads I'd taken. They threw me grand parties to celebrate my conquest, yet ignored the blood still dripping from my hands." I made my way back over to her as I spoke, and she rose up onto her knees, "They would cheer again if I killed you now. If I threw _your_ head to the king's feet and ended this war as I'd ended the last."

Bonnie did not flinch as I reached out for her, my hand smoothing over her damp hair. Her hands rested, palms up, on her folded knees as she leaned into my scarred touch.

"We call the survivors of tragedies heroes. That southern lord had sought out his own glory and, had the war gone his way, his people- and the world- would have cheered as this very city burned. That sort of admiration is fleeting," She rose a scarred hand of her own, fingers hot as she gripped my hand and brought it to her brutalized cheek.

"What do I do," The white of her eyes blazed, "I do not want to lead them to ruin."

A sunrise over a field of shallow gasps and decay. Mistakes and ignorance, painted into dirt stained red.

"You lead them only where you yourself would willingly venture. And you fight beside them every step of the way, and if you must die then you will do that together too. Loyalty will outlast your glory. And it will guard your back far longer."

Bronze lifted her chin, "You fought alone in the war, you did not need a thing such as loyalty to protect you."

"No, it was simply a weapon I did not possess." Half the men in my legion would have gladly swung at my undefended back if given the chance.

My fingers slid off her face, dropping to my side loosely. And she sat straighter, "Ichigo told me," spoken carefully, "that your father sent you to the front during the southern rebellion." I nodded. "My father never mentioned it in all his stories."

"Your father?"

A nod, "I owe him everything I know of you. For your legends have yet to be written."

Delight formed on the corners of my mouth but I pushed past it, "I am glad you came here tonight." I rummaged through the drawer of my night stand, bringing up the parchment I'd placed there earlier that day. I folded it carefully and slid it into her hand.

Bronze read it over, and opened her mouth, but I shook my head with a whispered: _For safe keeping._

Her jaw was locked but she dipped her chin slightly and rose, walked to the fire and threw the paper in, not turning away until it was nothing but a memory. "I have withdrawn my watchful eyes from inside the High Courts, as per your request. We will be blind of your fathers movements- and of his cunning witch while you're away."

"Grimmjow should supply us with a closer look at Clark than any of your men ever could."

"And if you are wrong about his intentions?"

I shrugged, "Sam will be keeping watch over the twins, and will act accordingly if my prediction does not unfold properly."

Bronze prowled around the room, her predator attention not once leaving me, "Can the soldier be trusted?"

I nearly scoffed. "Of all the stories you heard from your father, did you not hear Sam Cortland's name?"

She never halted in her stalking about the room, and her tone was that of a wild beast, "I heard of him plenty. Though never his name. I heard of a warrior who wore no armor to battle, who preferred the feel of gore falling to bare skin. I heard of a man who dragged you off battlefields still screaming for death." I shuddered. "And then there was the ghost story of a pale faced man, searching in the fog. Looking for the face of his ally, his friend, who had died in a massacre. He filtered through miles of rotting dead for hours, for days, all so he could carry their body home. My father spoke of it as a fiction, for he had never seen the man in the fog, had only heard it from alcohol drenched mouths, and they had never known the man's name. Only that he had appeared on horseback in the dead of night while they were clearing the bodies, his horse exhausted, dehydrated- as if he had ridden all through the day and into the night. I had wanted to believe, as a child, that such a companion existed, and now- knowing what I know- I find myself again hoping."

I was still while the words swirled.

I could see that long stretch of open field, where tents had been stuck in the ground, with men singing and the smell of stew and wildness had overshadowed the stench of unwashed bodies. And I also recalled the burrows of smoke coming from burning sticks where men had once slept, where bodies laid bleeding into the ground that had grown the food cut from their bellies. It truly would have taken Sam days to search every face of those fallen.

He had never told me he had looked through that unmarked graveyard, that he had come for me. I hoped it was a tale to be written, to be immortalized in ink and verse.

The Man in the Fog.

My throat was clogged with more than one emotion, "And yet still you doubt him?"

Bonnie's eyes held no forgiveness as she said, "I did not need to be told the story of the man who held the Heir of Gold in his hands while she bleed, who held her steady as her feet collapsed, who readied her for the next crack of leather. No one needed to describe the sound the whip made against her flesh as it tore it to shreds. I was there to witness Sam Cortland's cowardice, and it will always be all I see."

I turned to her, as a predator of my very own, "Then you will always be blind."

We faced off, the room separating us as crackling embers filled the silence. The quiet so thick it was as if the entire world was holding its breath. As the dragon and the phoenix waited for the other to erupt.

And then, as one, we exhaled, deflating and the world breathed a sigh of relief.

Bronze took a step towards the balcony, where the stars now streamed through clouds of thickest grey. I watched her go, her silhouette small and yet powerful in the dim light and wondered if this could be our last encounter. If my death could be lurking in the snow capped mountains I was due to visit.

"Wait," She paused but didn't turn.

I ventured back to the silken sheets of my bed, reaching into the case of my pillow, where the paper had been become creased and wrinkled, it mattered not.

Bonnie's brows furrowed as I handed it over, "Pass this to Ichigo for me." The crinkle between her eyes only deepened, but she stuffed the parchment into the pocket of her pants and gave no confirmation before swinging her legs over the railing and jumping into the night.

I knew the words, had memorized them the night they had spewed out of me, and I wondered if Bonnie would read them before handing it over to its recipient.

Ichigo had requested a reply with his first poem, and I hadn't planned on ever giving him one, but after the whipping, when I had been stuck with nothing but my thoughts for company the words had forced their way into the world:

 _I've buried my dead in the air I breathe  
Their rot reminds me of flowers. Of home.  
They taunt me with all the steps I never took  
Which might have lead me to prosperity, to safety among the roses  
I have forgotten soft touches and sore words  
Within chaos I have made a home and it is comfortable  
I am made of the silver of my armor, scratched but sturdy  
They've all tried to destroy me  
And maybe I could have forgive them  
If not for the laugh they let out  
When my innocence shattered like glass  
Maybe I could have closed my eyes to the horrors  
If not for the feeling of hands like oil on my skin  
(Even my mind isn't safe anymore)  
Maybe I could have grown kinder  
If not for the reminder of his anger  
Written in those neat white lines over the cage I call body  
But maybe it was me who had forgotten  
That I was an animal long before it all  
I'd had a taste for blood long before they split my veins  
When my mind was grown and my soul was trapped inside  
I wasn't born to kneel, I was born to conquer  
Tremble as I bleed your gods dry_

I hoped Ichigo smiled when he read it. I hope he understood.

They would call me Warmonger as I turned their armies in on themselves. The people would dance on the cobblestones drenched in raining blood. They would cheer as I ascended up the dias made of stolen gold and false fire. They would declare me Queen when I plucked the crown from my father's head like a wilted flower and melted it down into the nothingness that will remain of the Madoc name.

The beast stirred inside me as the sun peeked over the horizon, streaming passed the clouds to glitter on the marble of the High Courts. It opened its jaws, sharp teeth glistening and I grinned right back.

To the North we go.

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 ** _Thank you so much for reading! Please give me some feed back, it would be much appreciated at this point._**

 ** _Thank you!_**

 ** _Till next time-_**


	41. Chapter Forty-One

**Hey again, I've had this written for awhile but I only just got around to editing it so I'm very sorry for the delay!**

 **I hope you guys are ready for some travels!**

 **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.**

 **Well lets get into it!-**

* * *

Wind howled, whipping the tent around me into a frenzy. The cloth did little to keep out the bitter cold that we had ventured into a few days ago, and the shivering was now apart of my very bones.

My fellow travelers hardly seemed to notice the change in climate. Ryley and Cuyler even stopping for a swim through a billowing stream. They had emerged shivering and slightly blue but smiling.

When leaving the city, I was slightly startled by the people who would accompany us Northward. Most of Luca's companions had been slaughtered by Bronze and her rebellion, and though I had never known him to be a fearful man, Cuyler had come with his own small army in preparation of ambush. And so our travelling party consisted of eighteen soldiers, three cooks and two young women who always hurried into my tent early morning to snag the clothes I had discarded the night before. A group large enough to draw attention, stomping feet that could be heard from the next mountain top.

Luckily, we stopped only once or twice a day before setting camp for the night; more if Ryley walked outside the carriage with me, for he grew tired more quickly. I felt exposed so out in the open, with my fathers golden carriage and soldiers armed as if guarding a great treasure, we were a shining beacon for trouble.

And even now, in the darkness of my private tent, I still thought I could feel hidden eyes. Hear silent threats in the whistling wind.

I rolled onto my back, clenching and unclenching my fists, fingers popping. I was unable to close my eyes for more than a few minutes at a time, before the howl of a wolf or a murmur from a watching guard brought me back into consciousness.

And so that continued, until the sun broke free from the mountains around us and turned my tent into one filled with honey coated light. I sat up slowly, my body heavy and aching. I blinked once, twice, and let them rest even longer the third time, before breathing deep and rising to dress.

Only minutes later, I thought I resembled something close enough to human again. Snapping back the flap door, I was struck nearly blind, and when my eyes adjusted to the suddenness of daylight, I found my way to the rising fire in the center of our camp.

Two of the men shot up from their log closest to the fire and motioned for me to fill their vacancy. I could not tell if it was respect or fear that brought the politeness out of them, and with the chilling cold I wasn't going to dwell on it.

Cuyler peered at me over the fire, "You look frozen to the bone."

I resisted the urge to sniffle, "It is an adjustment."

He gave me a close lipped smile, and tossed a bottle through the air between us. I studied the bottle of whiskey and frowned and Cuyler chuckled, "It tastes worse than death but it'll keep you warm."

I stared at the bottle a moment longer, and then tossed it back to him, "I'll do well enough without it," I needed to keep a clear and stable mind.

"Suit yourself," Cuyler shrugged, taking a swig of the auborn liquid.

"I'll take some," Ryley said from his brothers right, extending a hand out.

Cuyler moved the bottle out of his reach, "I don't think so baby brother. I swore never again after the last time," He looked back to me, "Poor little guy could barely keep the organs in his body from shooting out along with his dinner."

"That was an isolated incident. I'd had something bad to eat."

"Ruined Aunt Liliths dress is what you did. And it was my hide that took the beating for it." My eyes shifted across frosted ground to where their father stood by the creek, his cloak snapping around him in the breeze.

"Well, you _were_ the one sneaking liquor,"

"Liquor that I shared with you like a good brother, and you had to go and get us discovered. Now, I'll never share with you again- besides you're too young."

Ryley threw his hands up, extending one in my direction, "You just offered some to Orihime, we are the same age you buffoon."

Cuyler glanced over, wide eyed, as if only just now realizing my true age, I gave him a confirmation shrug of a shoulder. Cuyler was nearly ten years my senior, and yet he had always considered me his equal, by age and otherwise. He shook off his shock, "Orihime's a Goldie, our laws don't apply to her." We did not have a legal drinking age within the city, or if we did I had never heard of it being enforced, but in the North you must be twenty-five. My father had told me it was so the alcohol did not deplete so quickly; and because the adults did not want to share the warming liquid. "Plus, Orihime has earned her right to a drink. So there." Cuyler flicked Ryley between the eyes, a secure 'end of discussion' gesture.

We packed up quickly after breakfast and we were hours already on the road before the sun settled in the sky.

It was a day where Ryley had the energy to walk with me- or perhaps it was still the slumbering irritation at his brother that kept him from the carriage. Regardless of why, I welcomed the company.

"Do you remember much about the North?" He asked me, pausing briefly to pick up a few pebbles from beneath our feet.

The air burned my throat as I breathed in enough to say, "Honestly, no. I had been- preoccupied."

Ryley nodded, tossing a small pebble far ahead, "You know, I don't really remember a lot about that time either; when we met all those years ago. Just the broken bits and my father and Cuyler chastising me for allowing a girl to over power me."

I would have laughed if I'd had the breath, "Cuyler did not know any better then, I'm hoping he does now."

"Oh believe me, he knows."

There was a clipped note of something in his voice, and when he threw his next stone it went far longer. And so I said, "How is your mother?"

He perked up like a small pup, "Doing well, if her last letter is to be believed. But she does not do well when any of us are away. When Cuyler was off to war, she hardly left her bed, hardly ate much of anything. So I will be more at peace once I see her."

I wondered how someone would normally respond, if it would be with more questions or casual reassurance. I wondered how I myself would have liked to be comforted in such matters and came up blank. I had no experience in the world that is having a mother. "I'm sure she will not be happy to see me," Ryley glanced at me from under his thick lashes, "I have stolen away her youngest son. And soon her eldest too, once the drums of war begin to beat."

"Culyer would follow that beating with or without you, he has always been a brute. And as for me, well, she will see the good our union will bring to the North. She will come to understand." Ryley picked up my thickly gloved hand and wound my arm through his. The warmth of his body nearly brought me to my knees and I found myself leaning into that heat.

Even when his words lodged themselves in my throat.

"Brandt and Garth are really the ones you should be worried about. I'm hoping these past weeks were long enough for them to knock the chips from their shoulders."

I laughed, opening my palm before him, and he dropped a few of his rocks into my waiting hand, "I suppose, but that hostility will be directed at you, so I really have nothing to fear."

"Besides your husbands well being," He joked.

"Yes, though, I should get myself used to that, don't you agree?"

Ryley sucked on his teeth with a chuckle, his breath coming out foggy. Then he clenched my arm a little tighter and spoke slower, quieter, "Would you have been happier? If it had been one of them?"

A face flashed in my mind and I banished it immediately, "No." He looked sideways at me, appearing as vulnerable as his question painted him, "I am glad it was you, glad it was someone who could look at me the way you do. Without seeing me for who- _what_ I was during the war."

Brandt and Garth, and even Cuyler too, they had a picture of who I am in their minds. A picture of one of the many masks I'd been forced to wear. And while my heart did not flutter in Ryley's presence, it was a comfort to simply _be_ in that presence; with no masks, no agendas, if only for a few hours at a time.

He was smiling, broad as the mountains, and I was even more glad I was able to finally give him an answer he had wanted.

In the North the sun seemed to only stay in the sky for a few hours, before disappearing over the horizon. And once its barely there warmth was stripped away, the entire world felt like it was freezing over. My skin, like glass, felt to be easily shattered. Even a brush of fabric was enough to make me want to scream. But nothing, _nothing_ , compared the the sharp knife that stabbed my insides with every breath.

I had never known such cold- perhaps blocking it out from my last journey here. Even still, I did not want to slow my party, did not want to be the weakest in the pack, and so I did not mention the feeling of death sweeping in over my flesh.

And it was roughly four hours we travelled without sunlight, all of the others seeming to know their way home, even in the dark. I nearly sobbed outright when Cuyler peeked his head out the carriage door and said we should stop to make camp for the night.

Right from the moment the fire was struck, I was curled beside it, engulfed in the thickest furs I could find.

The men around me sang as they ate, the ale soon over taking their breath. I turned to Ryley, seated on the log behind me, once my teeth stopped chattering "You people are insane. Truly."

He laughed, nodding, "The cold isn't for everyone. You'll be use to it soon enough." he leaned in close, as if to tell me a secret, "If it makes you feel any better, I thought I was going to melt out of my skin those first few days at the High Courts. I thought my insides were shriveling inside me."

Oddly, it did make me feel better.

Cuyler's boot crunched on snow as he approached the fire, "Re-thinking the whiskey, Orihime?" He shook the bottle mockingly, "No one will think less of you if you cave in,"

Ryley was glaring enough for the both of us, and it sparked something in me, and so I held out my hand silently. Cuyler grinned wide, and Ryley just mumbled under his breath as the icey bottle, slightly warm from Cuylers touch, slid over my fingers.

I looked over the label once again, before glancing up at Cuyler. I held his eyes as I extended the bottle to Ryley behind me, he took it with only a few seconds hesitation. I raised a taunting brow at Cuyler, a dare to try and take it from him. But he only grinned, and raised his hands before him, "Don't come crying to me when he's puking all over your pretty fur coat."

I opened my mouth, to laugh, or to mock him further, before one of the soldiers, sitting across the fire said, "I thought you only share your private stash with pretty things, Cuyler."

The Northern heir shrugged at the man, "Inoue seems to want to freeze to death. And I won't be risking a fuzzy mind in these mountains as of right now, so I suppose someone might as well enjoy it," He gave a pointed look to his brother, "Even if he is disobeying his elders by doing so."

I clicked my tongue, "The elders are simply being overruled,"

Cuyler looked all animal in his smiling, "By you?"

"That's right,"

The man spoke up again, "But you won't drink it yourself?"

I stared at him through the flames between us, "I've never cared for the taste."

He scoffed, rubbing at his face, "You haven't had Northern whiskey then. It all tastes like piss in the West."

I rolled my eyes, "Piss is piss, no matter where it comes from."

"You should at least taste it before judging it." I looked at the man slowly, "Or before giving it to the kid to get sick on."

Ryley stood abruptly, the liquid splashing around in the bottle, I stared up at him, shadows construing his face from this angle, "I am not a _child_ , and I can handle my damn liquor!"

A point he emphasised by popping the cork from the neck and chugging down three quick mouth fulls before Cuyler yanked the bottle off his mouth, with a hissed warning. Ryley wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and there was a silence as we all waited.

He stumbled back half an inch before steadying himself, and I rose up onto my knees, in case he toppled towards the rising fire. Glancing at Cuyler I saw him eyeing the label of the bottle himself, his brows knitting together. And when I looked to Ryley again, he was lowering his hand from his mouth, his skin positively green.

Without warning his body began convulsing, eyes rolling. He plummeted backwards, head connecting with earth, snow flying up around his impact.

I was half to my feet, when a hand fisted itself into my hair and pulled me the remainder of the way up, a blade at my throat before I could bark even a word. Across the fire, Cuyler was already on the ground, his face looking nearly suffocated by snow as one of his soldiers pushed his boot into his back, a knife angled for his jugular.

On the outskirts of our camp, shadows rose from the snow. As one they wove through our tents, as one they circled the fire. Men and women, the ice still on them turning to mist on their thick white snowsuits.

The man leaned to whisper into my ear, "You should have just drank the fucking whiskey,"

.

.

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 **Wasting no time am I?**

 **Let me know what you guys think, I appreciate any feedback!**

 **Till next time-**


	42. Chapter Forty-Two

_**Quickie but a shortie. Best kind right? No? Fair enough.**_

 _ **Anyway, this chapter has some darker themes so please proceed with caution.**_

 _ **Some of you have questioned why I havent had many Bleach character appear in the story yet, and the answer is simple enough. Maybe a few have noticed that all/most of the Bleach character that HAVE appeared have all been from Bellator (Or the South if they are villians) that is very much intentional and I planned this story out to the last detail so please bear with me and just enjoy it while it unfolds. And as always, thank you for reading it to begin with.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters.**_

 _ **Enjoy-**_

* * *

I tried to think through the blood rush.

Eight men, four women. I could feel the blade at my handlers waist as he held me against him, the pummel scrapped against my elbow. A quick shove back and a swipe up and the blade would be mine. But Cuyler was still on the ground six feet away. Too far. His head would be severed before I could even hope to reach him.

And Ryley hadn't moved. I tried steadying my breathing enough to focus on his. His chest, it was short and slow but it was moving. Not dead yet.

The mans breath at my ear was hot as he said to his friends, "Looks like we have the King by the balls. His pretty daughter and her prissy bride." They all laughed and Cuyler thrashed under his captors boot, straining to see his brother. "So sorry, Northern Heir. I don't mean to exclude you, we are more than happy to have you as well, my girls here have been lonely this past winter and they've never had a royal between their legs," The females eyed Cuyler and smirked, and I wasn't sure if it was the vile sheen in their eyes or the man's next words, hissed into my ear, that sent a shudder through me. "Tell me, is he as _impressive_ as we've heard, Princess of Bellator?"

I said nothing, felt nothing but disgust and his laugh rumbled against my back, "Yes, of course. A lady never tells." He flicked the blade at my throat towards Cuyler, "Let's have a look for ourselves."

Cuyler huffed against the snow as tall woman, who looked to be twice my age stepped forward, pulling the gloves from her fingers, smirking.

I didn't dare struggle with the knife back at my throat, but I pushed roughly into the mans chest and growled, "What do you want?"

The woman halted her approach, the white of her eyes glowing with fire as she waited for her leader to speak. I memorized the lines of her face. If she so much as touched him, her death would be painful and bloody.

"Ah, the Golden Heir a bit fickle with the copperhead?" He used the tip of his dagger to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, and I could now feel the stubble on his chin against my throat, "What's his modesty worth to you?"

I locked gazes with Cuyler, and he gave me as little a glare as he could. Meant to convey his disapproval. And his acceptance of the woman's prouding, if necessary. And he roared as I ignored him and said, "Name your price, and be done with it."

"Well, it's quite simple really; I want the same as Glinda there. Bedding a royal is a scarce thing where we come from. And I hear your skin tastes of wine and roses." His nose skimmed my jaw, but I didn't allow myself to shift away. "But you see, I've also heard you eat men such as me for breakfast, and I have no interest in putting my favorite appendage near those pearly teeth if there's a chance they'll bite it off."

Cuyler was thrashing again, and blood trickled over his jaw and into the snow as the blade cut into the back of his neck. " _You touch her and I'll cut it off myself and shove it right back down your throat._ "

The man continued, unfaltered, "Walk into that tent with me, Orihime Inoue, and we leave the men alone," The women hissed. "And if I leave that tent a satisfied man, we will walk into the night and you will never see us again, I give you my word."

As if his word meant anything. As if his life meant anything.

I'm sure a better person would have taken a moment to consider it. If they had considered it at all. But I was not a better person, and I was passed such pretenses. The last time a man had been over me, it had been for nothing. It had been nothing but tears and blood and a soul going black. Now, it would be to save Cuyler, and Ryley and all the others in this camp.

It was not a difficult choice to make.

I nodded, the blade nearly cutting into me as I did so.

Cuyler was screaming as that dagger lowered, as I turned towards my tent, the man just a step behind. It was my name that echoed off the mountains around us, my name that was yelled in such a voice I'd only heard from him once before, on a battlefield far away from this bitter cold. And in those echoes was a promise of war, of anger and death.

I took in the dark camp, seeing all of the soldiers slumped on the ground around us. Looking to have fallen quickly and harshly. All motionless. I forced my attention away.

I paused before the flap of the tent, and I wanted to look back. I wanted to see the look Cuyler held on that face, but I knew if I did, the moment would no doubt haunt him forever. And so I lifted my chin and walked alone into the tent, ready to emerge irreparable.

* * *

Cuylers yelling continued, drowning out even the howling wind.

I tried to drown it out as I turned to watch the man enter, and I took in his face for the first time. He was old enough to be my father. Old enough to have long been a man when I was born. Old enough to make my stomach churn. His age was conveyed in the lines around his eyes and mouth, and in the grey of his stubble that flecked over his chin and cheeks. His height was staggering, but that I had guessed while he'd been behind me.

He also stopped to observe me, eyes flickering from head to toe, my disgust was clear in my staggering voice, "You should savor what you witness today, for it just might be the last thing you ever see."

There was no humor on his face, "They told me you were a beautiful thing. Beautiful, but terrifying as well. I couldn't picture it until now."

Fire rose so far up my throat I could nearly taste the smoke. I left the fur drop from my shoulders, "Let us get it over with."

The man shook his head, his hands waving before him, "Worry not, young one. I have no plans to touch you."

Glaring, I followed the man as he moved about the space. The tent large enough to sleep at least ten men, still felt too small. He pauses to observe _Vladimir_ , laid carefully over my cot. He stoked a hand down the blade before saying, "My name is Wilibau Frinn, and you and I are to be allies in the times ahead." I said nothing, and he must have sensed my doubt. "Believe it, or don't, it makes little difference."

I unclenched my teeth enough to say, "I find it hard to believe the words of butchers and rapists."

Wilibau looked about the tent, before shrugging "I see no one of the sort here." Cuyler began bellowing again, followed by a mans aggravated grunt and a thudding of rushing feet. "That one was supposed to drink the whiskey, and lay down quietly so we could speak privately, but some plans are meant to unfold messily, I suppose."

"You murdered every man and woman in this camp simply to speak with me?"

Wilibau rolled his eyes, hands folding behind him, "No need to be dramatic, it's only a sleeping tonic."

Teeth gritted, I snarled, "Ryley-"

"The whiskey was meant for his brother, with his large stature and endurance we had to up the dosage a bit. The boy drank too much too quickly. He'll wake up in a day or so, feeling a bit hungover but otherwise unscathed."

I considered it, watching Wilibau cautiously. "What is it you've come to say."

He smiled, a bit tightly, and leaned to sit cross legged on the ground, motioning me to follow. "Best make yourself comfortable, Heir of Gold, we have much to discuss."

* * *

 ** _Cuyler:_**

My face had turned numb, yet still I could feel the pricking of ice against my skin as it burned me with its cold. The only sound in the world was the wind and the crunching of snow against the fidgeting of the bastards around me.

And of course the pounding of my heart, squeezing and collapsing inside my chest.

It had been minutes since Orihime had entered the tent. Minutes in this frozen hell felt like more years than anyone had the right to live. I strained to listen, to hear any sound coming from her, but there was nothing.

I pulled at the rope around my wrists. Scolding myself, I should have been faster. I'd nearly been to the tent before they'd gotten me back to the ground. I'd been inches from saving her… I should have been faster. And now I was bound, hands and feet, with no way to rise from the snow.

None of them said anything, to me or each other as we waited.

They'd placed me beside Ryley, his arms spread out like an eagles wings. And sharp panic sunk in my gut, before the idiot started snoring softly, his breath foggy in the night. I'd strangle him if I had the hand range to do so.

I rose my head as high as I could, and glanced over all their faces. They would pay for this, with their lives, their families lives. I hissed as much and a dark haired lad laughed outright, "Such a big man, making threats while his comrade makes the sacrifice."

"You will pay for her suffering with your blood, coward."

He turned to face me fully, "Careful, Northerner, or perhaps I'll request a turn with her if you keep flapping your mouth." He kicked a mound of snow into my face, it slid down my jaw, nearly melting with my scorching anger, "Maybe I'll cut off all your fingers in the meantime. Little good your threats will be then."

This time it was I who laughed, "Orihime will skin you all alive. I'll need only watch."

They turned back around, with shaking heads and mocking laughs.

Orihime would hate me for the thoughts swarming through my head. She was not some fair maiden, needing to be saved, this I knew. And she would scold me for thinking I could protect her any better than she could protect herself. But even still, I went back to listening for her. Listening for anything other then the thundering word pumping through my veins.

 _Failure._

 _Failure._

 _Failure._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 ** _Till next time-_**


	43. Chapter Fourty-Three

**Hello hello, back again. Late as usual...**

 **Better late than never right? No probably not. I've tried to get myself onto a schedule of writing but I can never seem to force it that way. I mean I CAN but it comes out as utter garbage. Let me know if you guys have any tips on that, because I hate making everyone wait.**

 **Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters**

 **lets get back into it—**

* * *

I sat on my cot, elbows on knees, chin cupped in my hand, for however long. I just knew the sun had started to shimmer through the cracks of the world, and muffled sounds of life began to stir.

Then the sun cut through the tent, and Cuyler was kneeled before me. He didn't touch me, didn't reach out to comfort.

Cuyler's eyes were a black storm, and I could practically see lightning flash within them. He looked into my eyes for a moment, calculating, assessing. And when he spoke, his voice was as sharp and startling as loudest thunder, "We will tell no one of this." Then he stood in one strong, sure movement.

I raised my head from my palm, "He didn't touch me,"

He paused, long enough to consider his words carefully, "It doesn't matter. We tell no one." And then, softer, kinder: "If he didn't force you, then why do you look so sick?"

I'd taken my time alone to ready myself for this question, but when the moment came I still found the words difficult, "I said he didn't touch me, not that he didn't force me," I'd been sure to ruffle my clothing, to alter the way it laid across my body. As if removed and then put on hastily. And I pulled the neck of my shirt closer together.

Cuyler watched the movement and his fingers clenched and then released, "Tell me what he did."

Meeting his eyes, I willed a fire I knew he would expect into my gaze, "Will you make me say it?"

His jaw was as solid as his voice, "Yes,"

I stood quickly, shooting to my feet, _Vladimir_ falling from my lap onto the floor. And though he towered over me, Cuyler took a step back, planting his feet solidly.

I didn't let myself grin.

I paced to the far side of the tent, holding my shoulders taunt, pausing just long enough for him to relax slightly.

I shuttered out a breath, "He just wanted to look." When I wrapped my arms around myself securely, I'd done it to complete the act, but it held me together as the disgust threatened to overpower my steel resolve. And when I repeated the words again, there was a flutter in my throat that would have been impossible to forge, "He just wanted to look."

I held my breath while Cuyler processed it. This was the moment that would decide the course of my plans, a defining moment. A life altering moment of silence.

I heard him take a step forward, and I felt nothing at all but the pounding of my heart. I prayed he couldn't hear it in the silence. When he didn't say anything for several minutes, I turned half towards him, keeping my arms secured around me.

"Why didn't they kill us?" I asked before he could.

"I don't know." Came his growled response, but some of that small suspicion faded from his eyes as he took me in.

I also took the moment to look over him. The right half of his face was beet red, looking almost burned over his cheek bone. And the front of him was dripping wet, the shaking of his hands the only indication he felt the cold. And moving up from those shaking hands, I could see blood peeking through the white of his long shirt that circled his wrists, the skin left unconfined by his sleeves was pink and scratched with friction.

I met his eyes as the scene was painted behind my eyes. It must have taken him all night to break free from his restraints.

His handsome face was hard and as cold as he no doubt felt, but his eyes, looking black from this distance, were warm, "I should have been able to stop it but I'm glad- I'm glad that your modesty was all the man took."

I knew precisely what he meant. And I could only nod passed the lump in my throat. Cuyler, of course, couldn't have known that my maidenhood had been stolen long before this day. And I would fall onto my own sword before I ever let him in on that knowledge.

Cuyler stood there, awkwardly, for three heartbeats. And then his posture shifted and he was all soldier once more. "We need to get the men into their tents before they wake up."

I nodded silently, again. And I took the time to throw on a thick cloak before following him out.

We made quick work of the bodies. Cuyler, looking as if he could haul a man over each shoulder, did most of the heavy lifting while I focused on smoothing away any footsteps left by our unwanted visitors.

We both carried Ryley into his tent, being more careful with him than the others. I told Cuyler what the man had said about the dosage- being careful not to accidentally give him the man's true name. I didn't need to have to worry about Cuyler asking around once we reached the northern capital.

"He'll probably be out for the rest of the day… best to let him think himself hung over. And the others too."

Cuyler nodded, "My father was already in his own tent, sleeping like the dead. They must have gotten to him before the rest of us."

I scolded myself for never even considering his father. I should have had the mind to ask Wilibau about him.

I stared down at Ryley for a moment, took a deep breath and then turned to his brother, "So we agree to never speak of this again."

Cuyler didn't take his eyes from his smallest brother, and the look in those eyes was not kind. But he nodded and it was enough.

We both went back to our own quarters. ' _Get a few hours sleep, we leave once the men wake._ ' Cuyler had demanded. I wasn't going to argue.

Though, I knew I would never be able to sleep. So, while I laid in my cot, I thought. Attempting to clear away some of my doubts about what I had learned through the night.

And I couldn't get Cuyler out of my head.

I've always known that the feelings we develop when we are young stay with us. The keen like and dislike of things that follow us for many years to come. Opinions on food, music and people.

Yes, people most of all.

For while I had many reasons as of late to mistrust Cuyler, to suspect and doubt him, I could not forget the kindness he had shown me in my youth. Granted I had still been healing then, still sore and broken where no eyes could see. And I had accepted his kindness eagerly, not knowing when I would ever see such a thing again, from anyone.

Cuyler had treated me as his equal, in rank as Heir, and skill as a soldier. And he had been handsome and interesting, smart in unspoken ways.

And when I looked at him now, with eyes that might appear the same but had altered over the years since they'd first seen him, I still saw the man I used to know.

But the time apart had taught me how to see things people wanted hidden about themselves. And so, now, I could see the way he prowled through the tents with a hand on his dagger, searching, nearly desperate for a threat to appear. I could detect the hitch in his breath and the tension in his jaw when Ryley spoke. It reminded me of the hostility I was always shown in the presence of the politicians back home. And the haunting way his eyes stalked his father... I had looked at my own father in such a way many times, and I knew the thoughts that came with such a slumbering resentment.

Perhaps Cuyler was still the man who sheltered me in times of war. Who fought beside me and who I had watched weep for his fallen soldiers, but perhaps these years apart had altered him as well. And I was not foolish or desperate enough to believe it was all for the better.

I listened carefully, stretching my hearing past my tent and out into the world. When I heard nothing but my own breathing, I got up and got to my knees before my cot.

I found the papers easily, having only hid them there a few hours prior. Wilibau had said much, but it wasn't until these letters that I believed a word of it.

I would know Sam's scrambled writing anywhere:

 _Be sure to watch your back with the Northerners. And don't worry about a thing, I've got everything under control here. Come back alive Orihime, or I'll come to the underworld and beat your sorry ass._

 _Sam_

He always had a way of getting straight to the point. The letter was dated from six days prior, so written five days after my departure, and I was sure he'd only written it to appease my suspicion of Wilibau. And he was right.

I wonder if Sam knew any of what the rebel had ventured into crisp winter to tell me. What couldn't wait until my return to the West.

I didn't let myself dwell on it.

Instead, I placed Sam's letter back into the safely hidden slit in the side of my mattress. I ran my fingers over the second letter, and the script on the front I had easily recognized from his previous notes. And in that script Ichigo had requested I read this alone, to not allow another person to see my response to the beautiful words no doubt written within.

I debated for a moment if I should read them now, or if I should wait for a time when I needed his calming reassurance… I banished the idea nearly immediately.

I broke the seal and read:

 _There was always a silence to you  
A creeping echo of forgotten words  
Every step, every look always steady; sure  
But there was a softness too  
A firm, breathless sighing  
You wove together a web of whispers and screams so flawlessly  
You proved that a woman can be both  
A soft wind and the raging hurricane  
With tear filled eyes and fingers dripped in gore  
I watched you with eyes closed, heart as secure as the sword in your grip  
I know one day I will realize  
One day I will see  
You are a heaven sent, come to set my slumbering monster free _

_So do not expect me to tremble_

 _To cry for you to stop_

 _I was always destined to watch you swallow the world whole_

Softly, tenderly, I smiled. And just as carefully, I placed those words right next to Sam's.

But I felt them, thumbing and straining, through all the hours I laid there, they rose and fell right along with my traitorous heart.

.

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	44. Chapter Fourty Four

_**Hey hey hey! its been ... well it's been a stressful few months. I've lost track of how many times I opened this story, stared at that stupid flickering curser and wanted to throw my laptop across the room, but just know that it was many. this chapter was difficult to write, much like a few other chapters that shall not be named that I was equally as unhappy with. *deep resentful sigh***_

 _ **Well I'll let you decide for yourselves**_

 _ **without further ado—**_

* * *

The city nestled deep into the snow capped mountains was much smaller than the one I'd left behind in a sea of golden sand. It's buildings, shorter and more spaced apart, were built of thick oak, the roofs, all slanted to keep the snow from piling, looked to be made of thick clay. And it wasn't until we ventured deeper into the city, when we began our trek higher up the mountain slope, did I start to notice the stares from the people as they stuck their heads from the warmth of their homes.

Some people cheered for their Lords return, others only looked on silently; faces blank. Those were the ones I watched. And who watched me back.

I wasn't sure if they knew my face, or it it was the rose draped hilt that peeked over my shoulder that gave away who I was, but their eyes were assessing and their mouths were tucked slightly down at the corners.

I considered if I should smile for them, to paint my features to be friendly. To make them believe I came as ally and not foe. Though, I decided against it. Better for my well being to have them worried, to make them think twice before reaching out to see if I really do bleed gold.

 _No one reaches for the wolf whose teeth are bared and bloody,_

The cheering happened more and more often the higher up the slope we went. The people there no doubt more full, and slightly more intoxicated. I could see through the thick snow fall the lights of the royal palace, though I could only make out the barest shape of the building.

We'd abandoned the carriage and horses down at the stables, and Ryley now walked in front of me, and it was a small mercy. I watched his steps carefully, and mirrored them just the same. The stairs had been salted, but they were slick and I imagined one misstep would be all it took to tumble all the way back down to the base.

Little good my reputation would do me then.

He walked slowly, and I wondered if it was for my benefit or the sickness that still lingered in him. Ryley and the others had taken nearly a full day to awake from Wilibau's tonic. Most of the men waking with belly's rumbling and never suspected much else. I had listened carefully at the others, who had remembered only taking a few sips and then the blackness. But their suspicions, thankfully, never stretched close to the truth.

Cuyler had spoken only a few words since then, and none of them to me. And he stalked farther up the stairs, taking them quickly and soon leaving us all behind.

Aware of lingering eyes, I reached out a hand and touched Ryley's shoulder, he slowed to walk beside me. "The climb seems longer this time around," I tell him, never lifting my gaze from the stairs.

I felt the rush of his breath against my cheek as he laughed, and then the warmth of his hand as it brushed the small of my back, "I know every inch of this city. I've taken these stairs probably a million times over. But being here, with you? It's like I'm doing it all for the first time."

"I'm worried, Ryley," I say quietly, almost wishing he wouldn't hear me over the wind. "I don't know what kind of person I should be while I'm here."

The masks had been becoming difficult to wear. They cracked and slipped too often and too easily to be much of an asset.

"Just be yourself,"

And for once, I gave him the truth. "I don't know who that is,"

We were nearing the top now, the palace gates stretching out to meet us in just a few hundred feet. The palace seemed to be pitch black and as tall as the mountains surrounding it, but I knew my eyes, which had swelled from the cold, and along with the lights from the lanterns blurring my vision, I knew they could not be trusted.

I would need to decide quickly, once we entered the walls I would need to be secure in myself. Secure in my future among these people. And my place within them.

When we neared the last step Ryley paused, and I turned to face him. His smile was genuine and his cheeks were flushed, "Then say whatever it is that first comes to mind, and we'll figure out who that is together."

Cuyler waited beside the open gate, his eyes finding mine as Ryely and I took our last step from the stairs, "Are we ready?" He didn't wait for confirmation.

The courtyard was matted with the recent snowfall, and was empty but for the two armed guards stationed by the main entrance. They looked to be fully grown, though with their faces covered with thick scarves, it was hard to be certain. Neither of them spoke, not even when Cuyler extended them both a greeting by name. Like the people far below, their eyes were cautious as they took me in. Gazes lingering on Ryley's hand, so casually placed on my low back.

Despite that, they opened the doors quickly for their Heir and Lord.

Yet, when I passed, the one closest to me cursed under his breath, and I heard the word clear as day, hissed with a blood curdling hatred.

 _Bastard,_

I did not pause, but I locked eyes with the brute. And smiled.

Cuyler led us with purpose. His father slumped out of his wet coat, it hit the ground heavily, and instantly a woman was there, plucking it from the ground with absolute attention. I watched her fold it dutifully over her arm, her eyes never bothering to take in any of our faces. No doubt taught to be unobservant.

I stared at the back of Luca's head. In the Golden City he had displayed a similar aura of pretentiousness. Though, he had always been careful, to never be disrespectful of the Courts themselves. Clark sees Luca as a friend, but feelings of affection change quickly within my father, and Luca was no fool. But here in the North, where he was below no one… I would watch him closely.

If needed, I'd remind him, that he is still below me- even here.

We entered a large room, likely designed for throwing grand parties. Only three people awaited us, a woman, and three large men. The space was otherwise empty apart from two large wooden chairs, set higher above than everything else… Thrones.

It appeared Luca enjoyed playing King.

He strode confidently to his pretend throne, and kissed his pretty wife on the hand, before sinking into it, groaning. It was an effort to keep the grimace from my features. And I hesitated, only a heartbeat, before looking to his makeshift Queen.

Lady Florence had been married off to Luca when she was only sixteen years old. The difference in age between them was as clear as night and day, but she was now a full grown woman, no longer a girl sold. And it was clear on her face that she had learned much over those years of stolen adolescence. Her jaw was sharp, yet delicate. Her dark eyes were beautiful, but cut from glass. She was not all smiles and curtseys, as I'd somehow remembered her, but then again, I'd been only a child myself back then.

She wore no crown, had no other indication that she was royal, but her red hued brown hair was long and clean down her back. And her gown, the softest of blue, was fitted to her like a second skin. The Lady looked like she belonged on that throne. More so than I ever could.

In fact, she was so regal, that when Lady Florence stood from her throne, her motions slowly deliberate, I nearly felt the urge to kneel.

"My boys," Her voice was clear, but I could hear the flutter of the tears she held at bay. Lady Florence held her arms out wide as she stepped off the dias and Cuyler and Ryley both reached for her. She held her sons to her as she said, "I am whole once more."

It didn't feel right for me to be there. Their reunion was an intimacy meant only for them.

I was about to look away, to study the other men in the room, when she opened her eyes right into mine.

Her attention hit me like a blow to the gut. Lady Florence looked me dead in my soul, her eyes slightly hard, but not cruel, no fleck of hatred in them. And something about _her_ , looking at _me_ , the look in her eyes… the feeling that was so entwined inside them- it made me want to fall to my knees and weep. To crumble under the weight of the names I carried.

The moment had spanned only long enough for her to release her hold on her sons, for them to step away from her embrace. It had felt like a lifetime.

"Orihime Inoue," She said it nearly like a question, as if she had scarcely recognized me.

Ryley smiled as he approached me, he lifted my hand slowly to his lips and I wanted to rip it away. I wouldn't wear that mask. Not here. Not in front of his mother.

Cuyler looked back to the dias, to the three males still standing behind their mothers throne, and said, "Did you not miss us, Brothers?"

Brandt and Garth grinned, all teeth.

It had been years, and I'd met them only a handful of times, but I believe it was Brandt who said, "No, but we are happy you've returned," He looked me over, "with prettier soldiers than you left with."

Luca cut in, "Hush, boy. That's to be your future sister. Or have you forgotten?"

His face sobered momentarily, then turned to something else and I was thankful when the door creaked open. The woman from before, wet coat now gone, stepped into the room, bowed slightly at the waist and spoke to Lady Florence lowly.

The Ladies face perked and she gently shooed the young woman away. She then folded her hands in front of herself, the long sleeves of her pretty dress hiding the equally pretty hands within, "We should allow you to freshen up before dinner. Brandt, dear,"

Ryley spoke quickly, "I can take her, Mother,"

Lady Florence gave him a soft but stern look, "That would hardly be appropriate, my love. Besides," she brushed a hand, as soft as a feather, down the cobwebs of my hair. Her touch, gone, before I could even react, "You can give her, if only a moment, alone, in the course of forever."

I didn't allow my shoulders to slump with my relief. Though the lady looked at me sideways, knowing.

The walk down the winding halls was a quiet one. There were few people stationed within the castle, our echoing footsteps seemed the only sound in the North.

Brandt slowed to a halt before a small door, made of a peculiar green wood, looking to be repurposed from a broken wagon or carriage. He threw it open but did not move to enter.

I peeked through the narrow doorway, before ducking inside.

I looked at the stone beneath my boots, then glanced above, then to the arches and walls, and finally to the flickering fireplace. Floor to ceiling brick, looking to have been scrubbed so thoroughly the grayish hues had been turned to a pale inkling of its former color. I would be sure to thank the voiceless woman for her dutifulness.

"My mother picked that out for you," Brandt said, still lingering in the hall. I followed his pointed finger, passed two archways and towards the bed nestled in the back of the tapered room. I could see the charcoal fabric from across the space, in stark contrast to the light of the beddings. "I have no doubt she will fetch you for supper. Try your hardest to appease her, she has always longed for a daughter to dote on."

Something inside me lurched up. Foreign and unwelcomed.

Ignoring both him and it, I ventured deeper into my room, until I reached the beautiful bed, to take in the dress laid over the sheets.

It was… Well, it reminded me of the black leathers I'd left behind, buried deep in my closet back home. Darker than the Northern sky. With a beautiful bodice and sleeves of lace, connected by a full collar of what appeared to be stars, twinkling in the candlelight. I ran a hand, hesitantly, down the skirts, the fabric there shiny and sleek. Silk. To wear this would make me a weapon I had never been before.

"Welcome to the North, General." I looked to the door, right before it clicked shut with Brandt's departure.

Alone at last, my shoulders dropped, posture gone slack without judging eyes.

I picked the dress up with numb fingers and marveled at the feeling of silk over my coarse palms. This dress felt nearly like a happy lie. To slip into it would mean I was to be compared to Lady Florence. To be the vision of elegance and grace, to be respected. I remembered back to her on that throne, how she had taken up nearly all the breath in my lungs.

I had always wished to command a room like my father, with strength and fear. I had never considered there was another way.

As I began removing my soaking clothes, and the chill still in my soul began to simmer away in the heat of the fire, somewhere, far into the snowy mountains, a pack of wolves howled. Their cries, echoing off stone, hungry and vicious. The sound vibrated over my raised skin, hair standing up as their howls grew frantic and desperate, and then were silenced, like a gurgle on the wind. Their hunt complete.

And I picked up the gown.

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so there we have it! Please please please give me some feedback. The fate of my sanity depends on it.

Till next time—


	45. Chapter Forty-Five

**_Hello hello, back again so soon!_**

 _ **Now this chapter was amazingly fun and I wish the whole story could flow so easily!**_

 ** _I hope you guys enjoy it!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters, the story however is mine_**

 ** _Lets hop in!-_**

* * *

 ** _Ichigo:_**

The moon was high in the sky, casting a pale light over the copplestones of the lower rim. The streets empty apart from stray cats and their prey. In the quiet of the night, the city felt small, nearly like a ghost of a once great capitol.

I was careful as I trudged over the sloped rooftops, keeping an eye on my feet as they stepped over clay tiles, the grooves wide and deep enough to snap my ankle right out from under me if I so much as slipped. It hadn't been long at all since Orihime's leave north, but her absence was palpable. Trailing her had become a steady routine, like a dance, and without it my steps felt sloppy- without direction. Searching and searching for their partner; deadly as she might be. Much like those cats down below, playing and toying with the mice, letting them scurry away while knowing they could never truly escape their iron claws.

I grinned to myself as I jumped from one building to the next.

Orihime was just like one of those hissing tabbies; and I was simply a mouse she let believe had a shrivel of power to use against her. She would let me watch her, let me get just close enough, and then swipe me away with a flash of fangs.

I missed the adrenaline of it.

Not to say trailing Bonnie Carter through a darkening alley was not fun in its own way. Her steps were quiet as well, her movements quicker than a burst of lightning, difficult to track and harder to predict. But while Orihime had been a walking ghost, leaving no indication behind that she had ever been there, Bonnie was a wildfire of scent, of footprints and shadows.

And she was afraid. Of being watched, or ambushed, I couldn't be sure but I could nearly smell it on her. It was what made me follow her, what had me keeping my distance as I did.

A push from within told me to slow, to remember my foot placements and stay low.

Under the hood of her cloak, Bonnie's red hair was stark in the night as she looked around herself, before tucking between two merchant boxes. I waited a few moments before slipping easily from rooftop to rooftop, but when I passed the crates she'd shuffled through, there was nothing but empty alley to meet me.

Every trace of her on the wind- vanished.

I clenched a fist over the parchment in my pocket, as a hiss echoed through my mind,

 _ **Given the slip again**_

 _Now, now, Rukia._ I purred back, _Have you learned nothing over these weeks?_

I jumped to the top of the crate closest to me, not bothering to be discrete. I slid from there, back to the stable ground, and felt a hand over the back of the wooden box.

My hand continued its searching. Probing, splinters breaking into the sensitive skin at my fingertips, I traced each corner.

There.

The latch swung open, and I pushed the wall of the box inward, revealing only a pothole inside. I crouched to lift the cover and nearly fell back at the stench.

 _ **The other was never so easy to find**_

I slumped out of my jacket and folded it neatly over the top of the makeshift door, then folded up the sleeves of my shirt. Bonnie better be going somewhere worth all this. I guided my hand into my pocket and pulled the paper from within, tucking it securely into my breast pocket. It was that sliver of paper that made me asked down that thread in my subconscious,

 _Is she safe?_

Rukia hesitated a moment, her presence fluttering for only the slightest of seconds before taking hold again.

 _ **Alive**_

I began my descent, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

 _But, is she adjusting well?_

 _ **The other is cold**_

I huffed a chuckle, regretting it the moment the smell hit my tongue. Luckily, I hadn't eaten much today.

 _What is she doing now?_

A ripple in that invisible bond once again,

 _ **She is naked**_

My foot slipped off the ladder and Rukia quickly took hold of my hands, keeping them locked on the bars to keep us from tumbling down into the murky water below. I sent her a feeling of gratitude as I steadied myself with a clearing shake of the head.

You'd think I was back in that flower shop, back when I'd never seen a naked-

 _Is she alone?_ I demanded.

 _ **The other is always alone**_

Relief that I had no right to feel swooped in, as I jumped the last few feet into the sewer. For my mind to be on such things right now. Here. I shook my head once more. Determined to shake the thought of her right out of it. Orihime could be with whomever she wishes. She is engaged to the boy, eventually that would be consummated. And it was no business of mine.

 _ **Would you like me to find the answer you seek?**_

Like any other bastard would, I considered it. I had asked for such a thing once, hadn't I? To look inside Orihime's mind, and pull the truth of how she feels from her inner most ramblings… to steal it like so much else had been stolen from her.

 _No._

Rukia turned quiet as we walked through the winding sewers; not pushing it. She had offered and I had declined and that was that. I wish everything could be so easy.

Then, she swelled inside my head. Pushing and pushing like she might burst right through my skull and out into the world. I dropped to a knee with a groan as the throbbing intensified, as she reached out and took my body as her own.

She tipped our head back, and inhaled deeply. She rose us from the ground, and spoke in a voice that was mine and yet other, "I feel you,"

Swifter than I ever could be and yet slower than she was undoubtedly use to, Rukia stalked forward, head tilted just slightly sideways. She sometimes stumbled slightly, not use to her feet being so heavy or her arms so long. We could both feel the burn that had begun in my fingers, the numbness that would soon spread to my wrists, and then my arms and up and up and up until it reached my sputtering heart.

She would need to yield control before it reached that point.

Rukia was always careful when she skinwalked, always kept a phantom hand over my heart, to be sure it kept beating. For while Whisperers had evolved over the past few hundred years, had began to value the lives of humans, it did not make their powers any less lethal. If she held me for too long, if she stood for too long in my mortal body with her immortal soul…. She had shown me what happened to the hosts of those witches who had not heeded the warning signs. Not just dead, but decimated. Spine curled back, ribs cracked open and apart, as if the body had tried to exhume the creature inside, to break itself apart to give the witch a way out.

 _'Do not worry,'_ she had consoled me, ' _I will ensure that never happens. Without you, I will again be ordinary.'_

It had not been as large a comfort as she'd intended.

We reached a fork in the tunnels, and Rukia did not even pause before veering right. Our feet, _my_ feet, made no sound as they swooshed through the thinning wastewater. She slowed before the next turn, hearing with advanced ears, something I couldn't detect.

It was still something I wasn't used to. To be a third party inside my body, to be only a guest in my very own mind.

Yet I could still feel the soaking fabric shift against my ankles, could feel the scratch of the brick as Rukia pressure a hand to the stone. And I felt her breath fill my lungs, felt her hand that creeped back up to my heart; still thundering but weakened.

 _What is it Rukia?_ I asked into her- _my_ mind.

 _ **I sense something wicked**_

Bonnie-

 _ **The rebel is near, I smell her**_

Rukia rounded the corner quickly, and stalked farther into the dark.

' _The other_ ', ' _The rebel_ ', I wonder what I was when she spoke of me.

I didn't have time to ponder it.

Rukia hissed, snapping back as she connected with what appeared to be empty air- but the skin of my cheeks and down my neck, I could feel what felt like blisters forming.

Rukia stared blankly ahead a moment, then reach out a hesitant, observing hand, and when it passed that invisible threshold, the flesh over my fingers and wrists sizzled and smoked before she quickly snapped it back.

She waited a mere few seconds, just enough for her body to heal back the blisters. Then, she ran a hand down my mental barrier, it opened up for her as she slipped more of herself inside, retreating.

 _ **You must continue from here**_

I rolled my neck as I returned, and a tension my body had unknowingly been holding, slipped away. The feeling in my hands slowly returned, then the heaviness of my legs.

I looked before us, remembering the blisters, and stepped carefully forward. Nothing. Another step, not a blister in sight.

 _ **Warded,**_ Rukia explained, _**to keep all witches out**_

How a magic could be so powerful as to feel the presence of a witch, even when muddled by the body of a mortal… I did not want to think what toll it had taken.

I could hardly see a few feet before my face, the dark of the sewers growing thicker and thicker the more steps I took. As if the wards had not just been to keep witches out, but to keep all things light away. Fear, thick and purely human took hold of my throat.

Why had Bonnie ventured deep into the sewers? Why had she waited for Orihime to be gone from the city, why had she not told me what she sought deep in the dark?

I could see barely a flicker of light far ahead, muddled, but solid. I rushed toward it.

I took two left turns, then a right. The blackness dulling as I grew closer and closer to that unknown light.

 _What is it you sense down here?_

Rukia's pause was long enough that I almost asked her not to tell me, almost wished I hadn't asked at all. But Rukia's answer came as I rounded the last corner. As I found the source of that beacon of light. We I saw Bonnie Carter standing in the heart of an empty chamber. Her back to us, her hands holding a glass orb, the size of a vulture's egg, with gentle attention. And in that orb, flickering inside, was a blue flame that needed no air.

 _ **Witchfire**_

As if in answer, Bonnie turned, somehow finding me in the dark. That blue flame fluttered, flaring. Revealing to me the face of my friend, my commander.

Staring at me, with eyes of pure black.

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 ** _._**

 _ **Ichigo's point of view was fun to write, I'm hoping it was just as fun to read!**_

 _ **Let me know what you guys think, and maybe I'll make it a more common occurrence!**_

 _ **Till next time-**_


	46. Chapter Forty-Six

**_Hello! Anyone else feeling swamped with the holiday? Because same_**

 ** _I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please review with some feedback, i always love reading them!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters_**

Lets hop into it!

* * *

The dining hall was large. And yet plain. No paintings, or decor besides the table long enough to seat 16 people comfortably.

Yet with just the seven of us, the space felt awkward, each scratch of silverware seeming to echo in the silence.

Lady Florence, fashioned in a dress very similar to my own, ate with grace and precision. Not a speck out of place. And I had never been so conscious of my own table etiquette.

She, however, was the only civilized person in the room.

Cuyler, seated to the right of his father at the far end of the table, barely breathed in between bites. His younger brothers, all ate the same, their arms placed around their plates, protectively. Ryley was at least attempting to slow himself, though one look at Brandt's plate, now nearly empty, had him doubling his mouthfuls.

"Men," Lady Florence mocked, with an exaggerated eye roll. "They act as if I starve them."

I took a sip of my water with a smile, "At least starving men know how to pace themselves."

"Next time, I'll request smaller portions. Then perhaps we would be able to hear ourselves think over their chomping." She laughed at the muffled complaints from down the table. Then she wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin, "Tell me, Orihime, how have you dealt with only men your whole life?"

I set my own fork down as I faced her, "Truthfully, I've never known much else. Even before the trials, I still grew up with only my brothers."

Suddenly, the air grew thick. And I kept my eyes away from the head of the table. I'd nearly forgotten that the northern heirs had grown up with my brothers. And had all come to their burials after I'd killed them. Their chewing had slowed, deep in thought. Perhaps they had forgotten as well.

"I grew up with six sisters. _Six_ ," Lady Florence said, either not noticing the tension or ignoring it all together. "All younger. And believe me when I say, you should count yourself lucky you never had to deal with such bickering. Sometimes I'd want to choke the life right out of them just to get some peace and quiet,"

" _Mother_ ," Ryley snapped.

Lady Florence paled, her hand going to cover her gaped mouth, "By the gods, I never meant-"

I waved a hand to stop her, "Oh, please don't even think twice on it. My composure is not so easily overtaken… or neck so easily broken, thankfully."

Garth broke into a laugh, some of his food flying across the table.

It was Brandt who said, "We can attest to that. Do you remember the battle of glatter bass? When that horse nearly stepped right on your windpipe?"

"I still can't believe you had time to roll out from under it!" Garth added.

"It ripped a solid chunk of my hair out with its stomping," I reached a hand up into my hair near the nape of my neck, "It wouldn't surprise me if it's still bruised."

Cuyler leaned forward in his seat, "Didn't a southern bastard get his steel into you because of it?"

I didn't even hesitate to lower the sleeve over my right shoulder, exposing the jagged scar right above my collarbone, "Went straight through to the other side. Lucky for me, he hadn't aimed." I took another sip of water before pointing at the quiet Elof, "Don't you have anything to say?"

"It was _not_ my fault." He said, solidly.

"It was your horse!" I laughed.

"I never claimed to be a horse tamer."

Brandt knocked him in the shoulder, "You know what Cuyler would have said if your horse really had clipped her?"

" _Inoooueee_ -" all three soldier brothers shrieked, there arms shooting out dramatically.

Cuyler shook his head, chuckling, "Oh shut your mouths,"

"No no no," Garth said, "That would have come later, he would have been too busy bathing in a billowing stream while the healers looked on. 'Oh let me just rid my bare chest of all this sweat, oops dropped my washcloth, better bend over to find it, oh ladies, didn't see you there!'"

Cuyler just sent him a vulgar gesture.

I tapped the table, "Hey now Garth, watch where you sling your accusations. I remember you following that busty redhead around like a lost pup."

"Rebecca and I were in love,"

I scoffed, "I didn't know love could be bought by the hour,"

Even the ironclad Elof cackled, "You paid her?!"

Garth shoved him, "Shut up!"

"You all sure have a lot of stories," Lady Florence said, amused.

"What about that other Goldie we met? What was his name..."

"Sam,"

"Right! Now that was a pretty one," Brandt purred, and I shook my head.

"I'll be sure to let him know you say so."

"Such a shame he got called away so soon, though it's probably all for the better. You never would have bothered with us if you'd had anyone else to keep you company."

"I still didn't bother with any of you, you were just too persistent."

Ryley, who had been listening intently, with a smile said, "You all make war sound like fun,"

Brandt's tone was a little heavier when he spoke again, "Now I wouldn't call it fun. I hope you never have to experience it."

"Orihime says war is likely inevitable, now."

Tension- and then for the first time, Luca spoke, "Has the king come to such a conclusion?"

All heirs to the North looked to their father, and when they turned back to me, the warmth in their eyes was gone, like a shutter of cold breath against a solitary flame, "He has advised me to prepare."

It was all I was at liberty to say, all I was ever actually told.

Brandt sighed, "Always another war,"

"We go where our King sends us." Cuyler reminded him.

We all went back to eating. And in the silence we all felt the heaviness that surrounded all our happy memories from the South, all the darkness that loomed around the blotches of light we had been reminiscing.

Death had followed us wherever we went, had seeped into us whether we admitted it or not. We had carried her with us every step since. And together, we would face her again.

But this time, we would stand on opposite sides of the battlefield.

"I wonder," Luca said, "how many will die. I wonder who at this table will never see the end of this next Great War." Luca looked at his sons. Looked to all but one. And stared at them with a fear in his dark eyes, that I could see but not possibly understand. "How many of my boys will never get to sire children, how many will never know the feeling of growing old?" Luca spoke now to the table in front of him, lips pulled tight over teeth, anger no doubt fueling the words that could damn him as he slammed a fist down, "He has no right to take them from me!"

The words shook me, deep inside, just as surely as they shook the room.

Lady Florence was silent, as she stared at her husband from across the table. It was not love on her face, but a grim alliance that would always flow between them. For as long as their sons breathed, they would be connected in their longing to protect them; shield them.

Yet another sentiment I could never understand. My father had ensured I knew the wickedness of the world. Ensured that I faced every horror this wretched existence could offer.

And so, I did not have the words to comfort him as the father he was, but instead as the general I am. "They would not fall alone."

Cuyler seemed to hold his breath. Luca leaned forward, fist clenched tightly beside him on the table, "Is that to be a comfort? From _you_?"

I had meant it to be. To me it would have been. Was that not what we all feared? To die alone.

Yet, it was perhaps the cruelty I will never rid myself of, that made me say, "I wonder, Lord, how many sons you have killed? How many brothers and husbands and father's did you and the king butcher to get where you are? Why does the deaths of your loved ones matter more than the murder of theirs? You'd still be here in your stone castle, where you are warm and fed," I scoffed a laugh, "It might as well be made of bone."

Luca's face had turned a blocky red, "Careful where you point that finger, girl. I've heard enough of the things you've done to know it would churn the stomach of Hades himself."

I did not shrink under the eyes of him, or his sons, though the sideways glance from Lady Florence, that was something I could not bring myself to look toward. So I simply smiled to the lord, "And believe me, Luca, I have paid the price for my atrocities." I looked briefly to all of his sons, one by one, before meeting his eyes again, "Have you?"

I picked up my fork and knife, cutting neatly into the slab of meat on my plate. I was nearly finished chewing when Cuyler spoke, "You will forgive us, Heir. The idea of war leaves a stark cold within us all."

Luca did not seem happy to be spoken for, but Cuyler had not spoken my rank by accident. My title hung in the silence around us, as Luca seemed to remember exactly who I was.

It was undoubtedly very easy, to look at me as I was now, gown of silk and hair of soft curls, and see nothing but a girl of twenty two, with doe eyes and a tongue of glass.

We ate the rest of our dinner in silence, not even the fine Lady beside me could bring herself to say a word.

* * *

I had never liked sleeping in foreign places. For while I had checked the lock on my door three times, and secured the latch on the window, I felt restless. Unsafe.

It made no sense, really. I had never felt safe back home, but it had been a different form of unease. At least then, I'd had the comfort of my things surrounding me.

Though, eventually I did sleep. And dream.

In my dreams, I was running over rooftops, and sleeping in alleyways. I was feeding stray cats- ignoring the rumble of my own belly.

Then the world would tilt and I would be basking in blistering sunlight, feeling my skin slightly burn beneath its beams, nothing around me but fields of long wheat. I felt sadness in that dream. _Home_.

The next time the dream changed, I saw nothing but sapphire eyes surrounded in black, staring down at me. Growing bigger and bigger, blazing with a heated curiosity. I shrunk away from their stare, I clawed at the darkness as those eyes grew slitted and vicious.

 _ **You do not belong here**_

And when the dream shifted, there was nothing but unconsciousness to meet me.

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End file.
